“Yet that is what a gentleman does when he is beguiled with a woman, isn’t it?” Magdalena continued. She snapped the rose’s stem, and began to walk slowly with it, tearing out the velvety red petals one by one and letting them flutter to the ground behind her. “He will do anything to find his way between her legs. His lordship is simply rewarding you for what you have granted him, and the more he gives you now, the easier it will be for him to justify casting you off when he is done with you. New clothes, a silk parasol, a playhouse benefit. You must have pleased him very much, cousin.”
“It—it is not like that between us,” Lucia stammered, denying what now seemed painfully obvious. “Not at all.”
“No?” Magdalena paused, and ripped another petal from the rose. “You do not please him?”
“His lordship and I please each other,” Lucia said, her voice small. “There are many things we enjoy in common.”
“Things in common?” Magdalena repeated with scathing incredulity. “As I recall, his lordship was exceptionally ardent as a lover.”
“You didn’t love him,” Lucia blurted out, unable to help herself.
“No, I didn’t, any more than he loved me,” Magdalena admitted with a careless shrug. Now that she’d found Lucia’s weakness, she was clearly enjoying herself. “There was an excitement between us, an allurement, but when I said we were lovers I meant—”
“I know what you meant,” Lucia said quickly. “It’s different for Rivers and me.”
“What, all sighs and Cupid’s arrow, bleeding hearts and cooing doves?” Magdalena teased. “If that is what you believe you have with him, then you are a fool.”
“I know what I have,” Lucia said. What she had with Rivers was deeper, richer, more perfect than anything her cousin could ever understand, nor would she try to explain it.
But Magdalena didn’t expect her to. “Most likely any attraction he has felt for you came simply because you were here in this wretched place, away from all other opportunity, and you made yourself available.”
She tugged out several more of the rose’s petals at once, carelessly tossing them aside. “If you wish to stay in his lordship’s favor once you return to London, you must do better than—”
“Stop,” Lucia said, snatching the battered rose from her cousin’s hands. “Those roses belonged to his lordship’s mother. All the flowers here are hers.”
Magdalena’s laugh was harsh and mocking. “If you are as sentimental as that, then he will weary of you even faster than I thought. I vow you will be forgotten in a month, Lucia. You are a passing amusement for his lordship, nothing more. But he does have a conscience, rare for a gentleman. You must make the most of that, and take all you can from him before he tires of you.”
Lucia shook her head, clutching the rose protectively in her hands. The pieces all fit together too neatly to ignore.
“I’m not you, Magdalena,” she insisted doggedly. “I won’t do that with his lordship.”
“You’re an imbecile if you don’t,” her cousin said bluntly. “You may think you’re better because he’s taught you to sound like a lady, but it’s a false parrot’s trick. You’re no different than before, not in the ways that matter most to him.”
“He says I am,” Lucia said defensively. In her heart, she didn’t believe it herself, but she would never admit that to her cousin. “Yesterday we had tea with the ladies of his family at Breconridge Hall, and they all treated me as if I were Mrs. Willow.”
“But his lordship himself doesn’t believe that you are, does he?” Magdalena said shrewdly. “If you truly were a lady in his eyes, then you would not be here alone with him in his house, and you would still be a virgin. Gentlemen like him do not spend their lives with women like us.”
Lucia flushed, for what her cousin said was painfully true. Again. She knew it herself. No matter how many times Rivers said he loved her, it would never be enough to make her his equal, like Lady Augusta and Lady Geoffrey.
Magdalena leaned close, her expression turning uncharacteristically earnest.
“Do not waste this opportunity, Lucia,” she said. “His lordship is the son of a duke, with an income beyond our imagining. You must seize what you can, for yourself, for your family. You are by blood a Di Rossi, yes?”
“Yes,” Lucia said, reluctantly. By birth she still was a Di Rossi and always would be, but that was in spite of the way the rest of her family had treated her after her father had died, not because of it.
Magdalena nodded, her dark eyes glittering like flint beneath the brim of her hat.
“Then you know what you must do,” she said. “Di Rossis look after themselves first.”
“Magdalena, I can’t do that,” Lucia said. “I won’t.”
“You will,” Magdalena said, “or you are even more useless than I’ve ever thought before. Take every farthing, every jewel, every silk gown that his lordship offers you, because you will not be in his bed for long.”
Here in the bright sun, Lucia saw tiny lines around her cousin’s eyes and mouth, lines that might not show beneath the theater’s paint and lights, but were inescapable anywhere else. She was still beautiful, but there was a desperation to her beauty that had not been noticeable before.
Lucia knew it was this way for all the women who danced in the company: their faces hardened and their jumps grew shorter, their knees gave way and their waists thickened, and before long they were relegated to character parts and dowdy costumes, and the rich gentlemen ceased to send them flowers or invite them to dine. Not so long ago, Magdalena would have scorned a lowly baronet like Sir Edward. Now, at twenty-eight, she was doing exactly as she advised Lucia to do: taking what she could before it was too late.
“Magdalena!” Sir Edward stood beckoning from the garden steps, Rivers behind him. They were once again smiling, as friends should; at least they hadn’t come to blows, which is what Lucia had feared would happen.
“I must go,” Magdalena said, waving gaily to the men. “But consider what I’ve said, Lucia, and if you’ve any wits at all, you will follow my advice.”
She didn’t wait for Lucia to answer, but hurried back to rejoin Sir Edward, greeting him as fondly as if they’d been parted a week instead of a quarter hour. Lucia followed more slowly, the parasol on her shoulder. Rivers was waiting for her, his smile every bit as happy as Sir Edward’s was for Magdalena, and she’d no doubt his welcoming kiss would be equally warm.
But after her conversation with Magdalena, her thoughts were in turmoil. She knew that her cousin often said things simply to torment her, and she wasn’t above invention and outright lies, either. Yet much of what Magdalena had said this time held the ring of unfortunate truth, so much that she couldn’t put it from her mind. The world of rich gentlemen dabbling among actresses and dancers was a familiar world to Magdalena, and she spoke from experience that Lucia herself did not have. She couldn’t deny that, as much as she wished to.
And one of Magdalena’s barbs had struck her to the quick. To learn that Rivers had paid Mr. McGraw to praise her and agree to the benefit had wounded her pride and shaken her confidence, but most of all it had hurt to learn that Rivers had so little faith in her and her talent. His praise, his compliments, had meant the world to her, and had helped to bind them closer as friends as well as lovers. Yesterday she’d wanted so badly for him to trust her, but if what Magdalena had said was true, then she was the one who’d lost all trust in him.
She slowed her steps further. Magdalena and Sir Edward had already disappeared into the house, while Rivers continued to stand on the top step, waiting for her with his legs slightly apart and his hands clasped behind his back, a quintessential Rivers pose if ever there was one. Because they hadn’t been expecting guests, his hair was loose and untied, as bright as gold in the sunlight, and his jaw unshaven. His dressing gown had loosened, the front gaping enough to allow the breeze to ripple it over his bare chest. He was smiling still, smiling at her, and the entire sight of him made her chest tig
hten and her heart grow heavy.
Because she did love him, and likely always would. Nothing Magdalena or anyone else said could change that. Yet she needed to ask him about McGraw, no matter how difficult it would be to find the words. She had to know.
“What is that in your hand?” he asked curiously as she climbed the steps to join him.
She stopped one step below him, the difference in their heights exaggerated all the more. She looked down into her hand, realizing she’d forgotten she held the mangled rose, half the petals torn away and the yellow stamen crushed in the center.
“It’s a rose,” she said softly, opening her fingers so he could see.
“Or what’s left of one,” he said. “My God, what happened to it?”
“Magdalena.” She sighed ruefully, thinking how her cousin had scorned her for being too sentimental. “She was tearing it apart, and I couldn’t bear to see her do so, because it’s one of your mother’s flowers. So I took it from her.”
“How very like Magdalena,” he said. “And how very like you as well.”
Even earlier today, she would have accepted that as a compliment. After what Magdalena had said, however, she wasn’t as sure, and all she did was smile uncertainly.
He didn’t give her any clues, either, just held his hand out to her. “Come, let’s see them off before she finds something else to destroy.”
She closed the parasol and took his offered hand, and together they joined the others in the front hall. The farewells were brief and a little strained, yet for Lucia the discomfort did not end when Sir Edward’s carriage drew away from the house.
“Clearly I’ve forgotten how Magdalena can be,” Rivers said, watching the carriage. “When I see you side by side with her, I can scarcely believe you’re cousins.”
Neither could Lucia, especially not when she recalled how fashionably her cousin had been dressed. Perhaps she had become a slattern, as Magdalena had accused her of being, and self-consciously she smoothed the silk over her breast and tightened the sash around her waist.
“But then, some might wonder why I am friends with Everett,” Rivers continued as they walked back inside the house, back to the library where they’d been earlier, back to the same sofa as if nothing had changed, when everything had. “He really can be quite an ass.”
“You are not much alike that I can see,” Lucia said carefully, believing that was safe enough. There was nothing controversial there, for it was true, too. She’d never understood how the two men could be friends, thoughtful Rivers with boorish, bullying Sir Edward.
“No, we are not,” Rivers agreed, dropping back down onto the sofa. “But he was the very first boy who befriended me at school, and we’ve remained friends ever since. We’ve always made foolish wagers, too, over everything and nothing, and this one’s no different. Do you know he remains convinced that you will falter during the benefit, and he will win?”
“Truly?” It was all she could think to say. She didn’t sit with him, but remained standing, her arms folded and her hands tucked inside the full sleeves of her sultana. “Sir Edward did not seem convinced of that earlier.”
“He is now,” Rivers said, smiling as he remembered. He patted the cushion beside him as a hint for her to join him on the sofa. “While you were walking with your cousin, I made sure of it by dropping a few choice words and hints to let him think he still has a chance to win. None of it was true, of course, but the last thing I wish is for him to withdraw from the wager altogether, and end the sport before it has begun.”
None of this felt like sport to her, and she remained standing, her back stiff and her hands hidden in her sleeves. “What did you tell him?”
“Only enough for him to forget whatever nonsense McGraw has begun braying about the town,” he said blithely. “Everett is easily distracted, you know. He certainly was by your pretty face. But then, so am I.”
She turned away and went to stand at the garden window, ostensibly gazing at the flowers. She didn’t want to hear about having a pretty face, not now. She wanted to know that she’d talent enough to earn an honest role on the London stage, and not have it bought for her like a sugary, iced sweet at the confectionery. It was inevitable that she’d lose Rivers, but she’d consoled herself by knowing she’d be able to support herself on the stage. Without that, she’d be left with nothing, absolutely nothing.
Unaware of her thoughts, Rivers came to stand behind her at the window. He slipped his arm around her waist to pull her close, and she couldn’t keep from tensing.
“You’ll prove to him and the rest how fine an actress you’ve become,” he said softly, sweeping aside her hair to whisper in her ear. “No, how fine an actress you’ve always been. You’ll show them your mettle, sweetheart, and let them see your magic.”
“You’re very certain,” she said, her voice sounding brittle. The heat of his chest against her back, the warmth of his breath on her ear only served to muddle her more. “How do you know I won’t turn mute with stage fright, and forget my lines before an audience, exactly as Sir Edward predicts?”
“Where has this worry come from, eh?” he asked. “What of not looking too far into the future?”
She didn’t answer that, because she had no answer. She closed her eyes, trying to lose herself in the rightness of him behind her.
“I cannot help it,” she said. “I think of all the other actresses who’ve come to London, and how most have failed. Why should I be different?”
“Because they’re not you, Lucia,” he said, feathering a kiss along the side of her throat. “That’s the reason.”
She longed to believe him, yet her doubts remained. What would she do if he admitted he’d paid McGraw? What would she do if he didn’t?
“I’m not sure that’s reason enough,” she said. “All those other actresses thought the same of themselves.”
“But without your merit, Lucia,” he said. He’d shifted his hand over her breast, gently cupping it in his palm and teasing her nipple through the silk with his thumb. “Once the world sees you in Hamlet, I guarantee you’ll be the toast of the town.
“Soft you now! The fair Ophelia!
Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember’d.”
She closed her eyes, the pleasure of his caress turned bittersweet by his words. If he hadn’t quoted from the play again, she might have been able to put aside her doubts and give herself over to his lovemaking.
But having him fall back into quoting the play made that impossible. Only Rivers could transform a random line from Hamlet into something that was both intensely personal and seductive. What had started out as a lesson had become a kind of game between them, like a secret lovers’ language, flirtatious banter that they’d made their own.
It had made her feel clever and witty, but also made her realize how special Rivers had become to her. She thought of the first time they’d worked together on that particular scene, of how patient he’d been with her, of how he’d explained that “orisons” was simply an old-fashioned word for prayers, and how they’d laughed together over the funny sound of it. He’d treated her with respect and regard, and in these last short weeks, she’d come to love and trust him as she’d never done anyone else. He was her lover, but he was also her friend, and the thought that she might soon be neither to him was unbearable.
“I…I must go,” she said, pushing away from him.
“Go?” he repeated, surprised. “Where are you going?”
“To my room,” she said, already at the doorway. “I…I need to begin packing my things for London.”
“No, you don’t,” he said. “That’s for Sally to do, not you. Please, Lucia. Come back.”
But she was running up the stairs, her eyes awash with tears. She heard him call her name again, yet still she ran, straight to her bedchamber. The door was open, and the young chambermaid was sweeping out the grate. She curtseyed to Lucia as all the servants had been instructed by Rivers to do, but even that simple g
esture of unearned deference seemed like a mockery to Lucia.
“Go, please, at once,” she said, her voice breaking. “Leave me alone.”
The chambermaid scurried to obey, gathering up her brushes and bucket, but before she could close the door, Rivers stormed into the room, slamming the door shut after him.
“What in blazes is wrong with you, Lucia?” he demanded. His blue eyes were flashing, managing to look both angry and wounded at the same time. “Why did you run from me?”
“Nothing is wrong,” she lied, backing away from him until she bumped into the bed, the mahogany rail pressing against her calf. “And I didn’t run.”
“Oh, yes, you did,” he said, following her. “Clearly something has upset you, and I don’t want you pretending otherwise. You were fine this morning. Was it Magdalena? Did she say something to distress you?”
She looked down, unable to meet his gaze, and realized she was still holding the battered rose. “Is it true that you paid McGraw to tell me I could act?”
“My God, is that what she told you?” He raked his fingers back through his hair, but he didn’t answer her question, nor did he deny it; she wasn’t surprised, for he was far too honorable to lie, even to save himself.
She raised her eyes to his. Now that she’d begun, she was determined not to back down until she knew everything. “Is it true?”
“What, that I paid McGraw to praise you?” He shook his head, again not in denial, but incredulity. “You would take that woman’s word over mine?”
“I would take her word because it’s the only one I have,” she said, her own anger beginning to rise. “Until you tell me otherwise, I have no choice but to believe it’s the truth.”
A Reckless Desire Page 27