The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 6

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  She shook her head. "No, I’ve taken up quite enough of your time as it is. We both need to get to work. Come under the cloak with me and let’s move on."

  "Oh no. I couldn’t," he refused at once, not willing to trust himself so close to her slender, lithe figure.

  "It’s fine," she assured him. "Though you might want to take your hat off."

  He removed it and walked with his head down under the cloak, drawing it over them both like a blanket.

  To keep pace with his long-legged strides was not easy, however, and she had to take three steps to his every one. By the time they got to the corner he noticed this, and said, "Here, put your arm around my waist and we shall get on better. Sorry about the long legs."

  "You cannot help your height any more than I should apologise for being so stumpy," she said with a smile.

  "Stumpy indeed," he harrumphed. "You’re the tallest woman I’ve ever met apart from my Amazon of an understudy Milly, and Abigail."

  She did as she had suggested to keep pace as they strode along, and gripped him around the waist. She felt awed by the muscles rippling under his waistcoat as they moved along together. She also loved his scent, woodsy, with a hint of fern which reminded her of the undercliff back in Dorset. There was a tiny suggestion of lemon as well, mingling with his own unique musk.

  His clothes had that lovely expensive smell of good wool, silk and well-starched fine cotton which made her hearrt turn over. No lingering aroma of brandy or cigars clung to him that she could detect. Her senses were so heightened, she could even smell the fine leather of his boots.

  His waist was as hard as India rubber, with only the slightest bit of give as she sought to hold him. His leg muscles bulged so prodigiously she could feel them brushing intimately with hers right through her skirt and petticoat. She still struggled a bit to keep up if he forgot himself or halted suddenly, as he did once to stay her until a dray passed by safely.

  But she only laughed at her blunder as she got pulled back and he looked at her even white teeth, her sparkling deep blue eyes, and very nearly kissed her senseless. His lips hovered over hers, and she looked into his deep brown eyes, mesmerised by his huge and very arousing presence.

  George was saved from making a fool of himself by a shout from across the street, and a man as tiny as George was huge came up to them both. "Hello, Boss. What are you doing out and about in this foul weather so early?"

  "So much to do with the new play. This is Miss, er—" He looked at her for permission.

  "Lyons," she said again, not wanting to lie more than she had to. "Miranda Lyons."

  They both bowed to each other politely.

  "Miranda is going to be helping Maggie at the theatre. This is my right hand man Daniel. Anything you need, ask him or me and it shall be yours."

  He was about forty, with sparkling grey eyes and a face so ugly as to be almost beautiful. He resembled a placid and happy little monkey with his thick, bushy sidewhiskers. He was barrel chested, and was probably intimidating enough to anyone who wanted to take him on despite his height, for his fists were huge. The fact that his nose and cheekbones had been broken a couple of times betokened a professional pugilist, she felt sure.

  "So pleased to meet you, sir."

  "I’m Daniel. Everyone calls me that. We don’t stand on ceremony in the theatre. In case he hasn’t explained, we all get a share in the night’s takings. Of course, you would get a bit more if you are a lead compared to a dresser like yourself, but still it isn’t a bad living if you want to work almost every day. Wednesdays are our matinees, and Saturdays too starting next week now that the worst of the winter seems to be coming to an end."

  "Yes, it has been quite mild for the most part, hasn’t it?" she agreed.

  "From Dorset, are you? I can always tell an accent."

  George looked at them both in surprise.

  "Er, yes, and have spent some time in Somerset," she admitted.

  "Not very long by the sound of you," Daniel said.

  He tried to keep pace with the two of them on his little bandy legs. George slowed slightly. Within five minutes Daniel was relieving the night watchman and opening up. "Shall I give Miranda the grand tour, Boss?"

  Reluctant to part company with the lovely young girl, he said, "Since we’re here so early, I’ll do it. You need to run around to the printers and see if the play bills are all set for the Antony and Cleopatra run beginning the day after tomorrow."

  "Quite right, Boss." He gave Miranda a warm smile and she was left alone with the huge handsome man once more.

  It was evident as George took her around the auditorium, the stage and the back of the theatre, with its dressing rooms and offices, props and wardrobe rooms, that he was rather proud of the place. He spoke warmly of almost everyone in the cast and crew, and was evidently delighted with what he did. He proudly showed her the book.

  But before she got the chance to tell him that she could read he said, "Ah, but I suppose it wouldn’t be much interest to you compared to where you’re going to be working."

  He took her to the wardrobe room, which was filled to the brim with a variety of costumes. "You will look after them, be wardrobe mistress as it were, and generally take orders from Maggie if you feel she is being fair. If she makes you unhappy, come to me or Daniel, or young Milly, who is her understudy. As kind a woman as ever lived. Simple, though. Uncomplicated. Took her off the street, in case you were wondering."

  Miranda shrugged. "It’s none of my business. Like prisoners in Newgate, we none of us want to talk about our past."

  "Have much experience of prisons, do you?" he asked casually.

  She thought of her friend Philip Marshal’s background as she shook her head. "No personal experience, but some knowledge of debtor’s and other prisons." Now that she thought about it, Philip too would make a good subject for a novel…

  "What is it?" He sighed. "I’m sorry if I’ve upset you," he said, planting one hand on her shoulder as her expression assumed a distracted air and was marred by a frown between her lovely arched brows.

  "Oh no," she said, patting his hand. "It’s nothing. I’m just going to get started in here, familiarise myself with everything, and wait until the others come in."

  Her touch sizzled along his arm, almost forcibly knocking the wind from him. With a curt nod he left her.

  The rest of the staff all arrived within half an hour. Ebony-haired Maggie was voluptuous in a coarse, earthy sort of way, and capricious, loving to be the centre of attention. Miranda caught her looking at her speculatively once or twice as if to decide if she was available or not, and let it pass. But when her husband Hugo looked at her lewdly, Miranda made it clear in no uncertain terms that she was only there because she was interested in working in the theatre, and her virtue was not negotiable.

  George, listening to the exchange in the dressing room through the paper-thin walls from his office two doors down, was pleased and relieved. Miranda had handled herself well. She would need to in this life.

  Hugo laughed at her primness. "All right, but you don’t know what you’re missing," he had said with a final ogle before departing for his own dressing room.

  "I think in this case, ignorance is bliss," she muttered under her breath, and went to fetch a cup of tea for her new lady boss from the small kitchen at the back of the theatre.

  George followed her. "Everything all right?" he asked quietly.

  "Fine. Nothing I can’t manage to cope with. You did warn me about them, after all."

  "I’m sorry they can be such a rum lot."

  She shrugged one shoulder. "They can’t help themselves. I feel sorry for them. Being a slave to carnality like that."

  "My, you certainly are an unusual girl, aren’t you?" he said, his tone warmly appreciative in a way which sent little shivers down her spine.

  She stared at him. "What do you mean?"

  "Well, a lot more, well, worldly than I gave you credit for, but still innocent for all of that."


  She waved off his praise. "I’ve tried to live by the teachings of the Church, if that’s what you’re asking me. I try to practice Christian tolerance and forbearance. I don’t think I’m all that unusual."

  "Still—"

  He would have said more, but Milly came bouncing in, a huge buxom wench with eyes as blue as cornflowers and hair like spun gold. She grabbed her new friend by the hand and asked her to come see the new costumes which George had brought.

  Miranda felt a pang at the girl’s delight, for there was no chance in the world any of the new things were going to fit her huge frame. But Milly was excited, and might be able to make something over. She had acquired some excellent sewing skills from having to create almost everything for herself from scratch, Miranda noted as she took her around to show her her handiwork.

  "I wish it were more, well, special, though. But I just haven’t time."

  "I shall certainly be only too pleased to help you with your costume for Antony and Cleopatra. You have rehearsals on stage. I can just sit here in the wings and work on it," Miranda offered.

  "Oh would you? I was afraid it might not be ready in time, even though it’s just a simple homespun frock."

  "Of course I’ll help." She went to see the woman’s sewing basket in her corner of the common dressing room for the ladies in the play.

  George smiled to himself, and went out on stage to get ready for rehearsals. Soon Miranda and Milly were sitting side by side, talking only occasionally. When they did so, it was about the work and Milly’s role, which Miranda also offered to help her with.

  "I recall all the big speeches from the play, but if I can have a look at the book I can take you through it."

  "Boss rarely lets anyone look at the book, being as it’s the only one."

  "True. But in this case if it’s just sitting there with no one else needing it, it should be fine."

  Milly glowed with admiration for the lovely young woman who could actually read. Miranda resolved then and there to help teach her. Milly was not needed at the moment, so they went into the women’s common dressing room together. With some dressmaker’s chalk she sketched the alphabet on the wall by her clothes pegs, and began.

  She was just finishing with the letter Z when Daniel came in and reminded everyone that it was time for dinner. They all walked back to The Three Bells and piled into the kitchen and parlor with the others. Miranda got to mingle and meet more of the men and women with whom she would be working at the theatre, as well as most of the residents.

  Amongst her colleagues, there was Bart, her own height and colouring, who made sheep’s eyes at Maggie every chance he got, to the amusement of Hugo, who patted his bottom every so often and was exceptionally rude to him every chance he got.

  Then there were Becky and Liz, the two other actresses, one thin and sallow with mousy hair, the other petite, vivacious and red-headed. Both looked as though they too had been rescued from a fate worse than death.

  Of the residents, there were two large sandy-haired men, Ted and Bob, and another handsome young blond man George introduced with warm affection as Sebastian.

  Miranda looked at the two of them speculatively, but could see nothing wrong with their relationship. Sebastian was so handsome as to be almost beautiful, and there was an evident closeness to their dealings with each other. But George was aboundingly masculine, and treated the man like a much younger brother, or even a son. She soon discovered Sebastian’s sister was the famous Viola, who had lived in the attic before her, and she felt a dreaful pang of jealousy.

  "Sebastian is in between careers now. He had a good clerk’s place," he lied, "and worked as a quean on the side to help his family out of debtor’s prison. So he’s helping with odd jobs until he can find his feet."

  "Do you live here?"

  Sebastian shook his head. "Down the street a piece. Number 4. You need anything, run for me or Ted or Bob. Ted is in charge of the bath house, and Bob of the pub."

  "Thank you."

  George noticed her reserve around Sebastian, which was most unlike her. Then he determined she was shy around the good-looking man, and felt concerned as well as pleased.

  Well, it would be a fine thing for Sebastian, would it not? he told himself, trying not to interject himself into their conversation. She certainly wasn’t for him, much as he longed for her with every fibre of his being.

  But George noted she got up after a short time and went to speak to Emma and Abigail and get introduced around. There was no particular friendship forming there, at least not so far as he could see, or not so early on.

  Miranda was polite for form’s sake. The one person she really wanted to spend time with was on the other side of the room. Though she could feel his eyes upon her at every turn, George never said a word to her other than to make introductions until they were getting ready to walk back with each other.

  He presented her with a cloak with a hood, which she thanked him for profusely. She tried not to pause to wonder at his seemingly unlimited supply of women’s clothing, and tried to quell the jealousy which burned in the pit of her stomach.

  She had no way of knowing that he had slipped out of the theatre whilst she had been helping Milly rehearse to buy it for her specially, and some more warm flannel petticoats and a few other items like a hair brush and combs and ribbons.

  "Don’t forget the bonnet," he said, unable to resist a small smile.

  It was a most becoming shade of dark blue, like the cloak, with pale blue ribbons which tied at the sides. He obliged her now, fastening it carefully over her thick tresses. "There. Pretty as a picture," he couldn’t resist saying.

  "Oh no, really, I can’t take—"

  "Nonsense," he said gruffly. "All part of the hand me downs."

  "But this looks new," she protested with a frown. "They both do."

  "Well, you know how women frequently change their minds about their purchases," he said with a shrug.

  She looked at him doubtfully, but did not have a chance to pursue the matter further.

  "Ready to go?" Daniel called.

  "Yes, coming. Thank you again." She offered her little hand to shake.

  He took it solemnly, savouring her touch once more.

  She paused at the door and turned when he did not follow. "Are you not coming?"

  "Er, no, I have a few things to do this afternoon. I’ll be at the theatre tonight, though. If you’re walking back and forth to supper later, make sure that you go with someone. I will not have you wandering the streets alone, and I shall walk you home tonight."

  He bowed over her hand gallantly, Then, as if shocked by what he had done, he turned on his heel abruptly and departed out the other door.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Miranda’s days soon evolved into a routine of rising early, taking a bath, having breakfast, and working at the theatre. Then it was, dinner, work, supper, performance, and back to The Three Bells at night to write up all the information she had gleaned for her novel, before finally falling into an exhausted sleep.

  Throughout it all, her one constant was George. Though he seldom said very much, and most of the time they were rarely alone, or out in the street walking back and forth from The Three Bells to The New Rose or vice versa, she felt sure there seemed to be a special intimacy growing between them.

  It was as if they didn’t need to speak to fill what for many other people would have been uncomfortable silence. She had the sensation that it didn’t matter what she said in any event. He was watching, observing her every move, and drawing his own conclusions about who she was and what she was doing working there.

  Creating havoc with his loins was his ultimate conclusion, though to give the young woman her due, she had never said or done anything in the least bit flirtatious. It was just that every time he got near Miranda, he kept inhaling her scent, looking at the rise and fall of her splendid chest, admiring the gentle sway of her hips as she moved quietly thorough her daily chores.

  She was a most
pleasant companion, an easy woman to get along with. Everyone in the troupe seemed to think so except Maggie and Hugo, who evidently grew more and more enamored of her every day, and grew increasingly testy the more she made it clear she was not interested.

  Bart too had taken to flirting with her, as much to please Maggie as himself, but Miranda stuck to Milly and Daniel as her special friends, and kept busy. She also made sure she was never alone with either of the leading actors, often pretending to be eliciting Milly’s opinions on Maggie’s clothes, hair and such.

  One thing which did occupy her thoughts was the strangeness of the tiny Daniel apparently doting on the huge Milly. She wasn’t sure that the girl was aware of it, and there was quite an age difference. But he was a man who had had a hard life and made good, and had been taught by George and others how to read and write.