by Stella Riley
Unaware of this, Ashley muttered, ‘God. This theatrical nonsense is getting worse by the minute.’
‘It’s in my blood,’ retorted Francis flippantly. ‘And we can’t all be philistines.’
* * *
The afternoon’s rehearsal showed some slight improvement on its predecessors. Etienne had plainly practised and memorised his moves – which was good – but was now overflowing with ebullient confidence – which wasn’t. André managed to fall and roll on cue but still staggered to his feet as if drunk. And Marcel still hacked and slashed like a badly-handled marionette but had at least stopped sounding like a herd of thundering elephants. At the end of two hours, when all three were sweating profusely, Ashley let them recover their breath whilst giving a twenty minute lecture on basic style and how to achieve it.
Leaving the Colonel to it, Francis ambled back to Froissart’s office and rapping lightly on the door, said, ‘Have you a moment, Monsieur?’
The assistant-manager looked up from the swiftly-mounting expenses of the forthcoming extravaganza. ‘Only for good news. Anything else may cause me to open my veins.’
‘The swordplay is a little better. If the Colonel’s schedule doesn’t kill them, it’s beginning to look as if your actors may manage not to look utterly ludicrous.’
‘Thank you. You have no idea how much better that makes me feel.’
‘My pleasure.’ Francis grinned and strolled across to place Ménage on top of Froissart’s costings. ‘Madame Fleury feels you should read this. I believe the word ‘immediately’ was mentioned somewhere.’
And he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.
By the time Ashley joined him fifteen minutes later, a series of odd snorts and guffaws were coming from the other side of the door.
‘Is he laughing or choking?’ asked Ashley, leaning negligently against the wall.
‘The former, I hope. He’s been like this for --’
The door was suddenly hauled open and Froissart appeared clutching the script to his chest. He said, ‘Where did Pauline get this? Has anyone else seen it? Does she know the writer?’
‘From me. No. And yes,’ drawled Francis, laughter lighting the back of his eyes.
Froissart stared at him, as if sorting out the answers. Then, incredulously, ‘You wrote it?’
‘Yes. Do you like it?’
‘It’s unscrupulous and deadly as a well-honed razor. It’s also the best piece of comedy I’ve seen in a long while. What do you want for it?’
‘Whatever you feel it’s worth,’ shrugged Francis. ‘There is, however, just one condition.’
‘Name it.’
‘The role of the mother-in-law is to be played by Madame Fleury.’
Froissart opened his mouth, then closed it again. He shook his head, regretfully.
‘She won’t do it.’
‘Actually,’ said Francis simply and with immense satisfaction, ‘she will.’
* * *
While Francis was listening to Froissart’s raptures and Ashley sat in a corner reading the script to see what all the fuss was about, Athenais was walking around the parlour, rehearsing her lines for Mariamne and enjoying the rustle of her very first brand-new gown.
It was of leaf-green taffeta, trimmed with blond lace and she thought it was the most beautiful dress in the world – and entirely deserving of the equally new and lovely corset and petticoats she wore beneath it. The feel of it and the sighing sound it made as she walked made it hard to concentrate on her lines. More distracting still was the niggling wish that Colonel Peverell was there to see her. Perhaps if he saw her dressed like a real lady and looking her best, he might actually kiss her.
She was still wondering why he hadn’t. He had wanted to. As soon as she had calmed down enough to think properly, she’d known that. For the space of a minute, everything about him had shouted that he wanted a lot more than just a kiss. And yet he hadn’t taken it – despite the fact she’d made it abundantly clear that she wanted him to.
It made no sense. Men generally took what was on offer – and sometimes things that weren’t. But Ashley Peverell had resumed his usual expression and stepped away from her as though nothing had happened; as though he hadn’t felt that instant, overwhelming tug between their bodies … or didn’t consider it nearly as cataclysmic as she did.
She huffed an impatient breath and ordered herself to stop thinking about him. It was a waste of time and she should be concentrating on her lines. Just because the mere sound of his voice or the echo of his tread on the stairs had the ability to make her pulse stutter and her chest grow tight didn’t mean he necessarily felt the same. And just because he’d shown her the sort of kindness life had taught her not to expect was no reason to turn into an emotional jelly at the merest glance from those gold-flecked green eyes.
She picked up the script and rifled through the pages, trying to remember where she’d got to. Then, just when she’d found the right place, she heard the front door open and the sound of booted feet crossing the hall.
Ashley and Francis back from the theatre? Was it that time already? She hadn’t thought it so late. She tossed the script aside and flew to the small mirror over the fireplace to check that her hair was in place. If she got into the hall quickly enough, Colonel Peverell would see her in her beautiful new gown and perhaps –
The door opened and the Marquis d’Auxerre walked in.
Athenais froze, rooted to the spot in shock.
‘Good afternoon, my dear.’ He bowed lazily and continued to advance towards her. ‘You look charming. A new gown, perhaps?’
‘Yes.’ Getting just that one word out was an effort. Swallowing hard, she said baldly, ‘How did you get in? I didn’t hear the bell.’
‘I didn’t ring it. You have a distressing habit of being out when I call … and the door was unlocked.’
‘You – you’re saying you just walked in?’ Anger started to mingle with her alarm. ‘You have no right!’
He placed his hat on the table and started slowly stripping off his gloves.
‘I have any right I choose to take,’ came the careless reply. ‘And I am here because you and I have unfinished business. Business which I intend to resolve today.’
Athenais backed away a couple of steps to put the sofa between them while she tried to think who else, other than Suzon, might be in the house. Since the day she’d become acquainted with Colonel Peverell’s naked and extremely splendid chest, her father had been drinking noticeably less and started taking long walks around the city. Jem Barker, busy with some mysterious task, was rarely around during the day; Pauline had gone to visit a friend on the Rue St. Paul; and both the Colonel and the Major would be at the theatre until at least five o’clock. She wished she knew what the time was now. She wished Pauline would come home. She wished somebody had locked the front door.
Forcing herself to sound calmer than she felt, she said, ‘Then perhaps you should be seated – and I will ask the maid to bring wine. If you will excuse me for a moment?’
‘No. I don’t believe I will.’ He smiled at her. ‘I am not entirely stupid, Athenais.’
‘I have never thought you were.’
‘No? But you hoped. And you will not stir from this room until we have reached an agreement.’ He tossed his embroidered gloves down beside his hat. ‘Sit down.’
‘I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.’ She gestured to her skirts. ‘The gown, you understand. It’s only just arrived from the dressmaker and of course I couldn’t resist trying it on – but I don’t want to crush it, so it’s best I remain standing.’
‘Perhaps it would be best to simply remove it.’
The smile still lingered and the look in his eyes told her that he’d be happy to help. Tendrils of fear started to coil around her nerves. She lifted her chin and said primly, ‘That is not the remark of a gentleman, sir.’
‘No. But then, it wasn’t addressed to a lady.’ He moved beyond the sofa, forcing her
to retreat towards the corner. ‘Enough of this now. I have borne with you patiently for far longer than you deserve but the game has ceased to amuse me. Are you going to come to my bed willingly – or must I employ more … persuasions?’ Two more steps brought him close enough to stroke his fingers down her neck and along the bare skin revealed by her décolletage. ‘I doubt you enjoyed your first experience of a claque.’
‘No.’ Athenais tried to side-step him and get away but his arm shot out, trapping her. ‘You didn’t need to do that. I knew that you could. It wasn’t necessary to prove it.’
‘I beg to differ. Now answer my question.’
He wasn’t going to go away. Neither was he going to let her talk her way out of it this time. Even as she hesitated, he used his weight to pin her against the wall. The fingers of one hand dipped into her neckline while the other gripped her chin and he pushed his thigh between hers. Stupidly, she found herself remembering another wall and another man. A bubble of hysterical amusement floated to the surface of her mind and then was gone. That other man hadn’t touched her. This one had his hands all over her and his knee in a place it had no business being. She wanted to spit in his eye but instinct was warning that she had more chance of surviving this encounter undamaged by means of conciliation rather than violence.
Then he was kissing her, forcing her mouth open and half-choking her.
A strangled sob rose in her throat as she finally realised something irrevocable. She had thought that, if it became necessary, she could do this. She’d thought she could smile and lie and let this man use her like a whore … that she’d be able to bear it because she had to. But now, with sudden blinding clarity, she knew that she couldn’t. Not because he repelled her or because she’d heard the dark things rumoured about him; not even because she now knew what it was to want a man – to crave his presence, his smile, his touch. She couldn’t do it because, if she did, there would be no turning back and she’d never be clean again.
His tongue was invading her mouth and his fingers groped inside her bodice. Bile rose in her throat and, forgetting she’d intended not to fight him openly, she pushed at him with one hand and raised the other to claw at his cheek. With the speed of a snake, he released her mouth and seized her wrist in a crushing grip.
‘Oh no,’ he murmured as he captured her other hand and twisted both of them behind her to lock them in one of his. ‘That was very foolish, my dear. Now you’ve annoyed me.’
Athenais wished she had a knife. Since she didn’t, she met his eyes and managed to say, ‘Monseigneur … please let me go. I can’t do what you want. And I’m sorry I tried to – to hit you but you’re frightening me a little.’
‘I’ll frighten you more than a little if you continue to defy me.’
His voice was soft as silk and somehow more dangerous than if he’d shouted. With his free hand, he wrenched at the shoulder of her gown so hard she heard stitches giving way. Then, bending his head, he bit her hard on the upward slope of her breast.
Athenais yelped in pain and, now seriously frightened, struggled desperately to free herself.
Seizing a handful of her hair, he said, ‘Be still. You carry my mark now. You will not refuse me.’
And then the door opened.
‘What the hell--?’
Colonel Peverell froze on the threshold, momentarily transfixed by the sight of Athenais’s head being dragged back by her hair and the savage red mark just above the line of her disarrayed gown. Two steps behind him, he heard Francis’s startled curse.
D’Auxerre also swore and swung round to face the intrusion while, released without warning, Athenais’s knees gave way and she slithered down the wall into a leaf-green puddle.
Setting one hand to his sword, the Marquis growled, ‘You have no business here. Get out.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Ashley strode forward with clenched fists. ‘You’re the one who’ll be leaving. After I’ve beaten you to a bloody pulp.’
Francis’s hand closed hard on his arm. ‘Wait.’
Ashley shook him off. ‘For what? So this piece of filth can finish what he started?’
‘So you can get a hold of your temper.’
Already drawing his sword, d’Auxerre snapped, ‘Don’t touch me unless you’ve a death-wish.’
Ashley laughed coldly and continued to advance.
‘With that pretty toy? Try it. Please. Just give me an excuse.’
Both the look in the Colonel’s eyes and something in the tone of his voice gave the Marquis pause and, with reluctance, he rammed his sword home.
‘The girl’s not hurt. And you don’t know what you’re meddling with.’
‘Neither do you.’ Rage was beating through him like Thor’s hammer and the desire to plough his fist into d’Auxerre face was overwhelming but somehow he found a fragment of self-control and, folding his arms, said, ‘I think you had better go before you find yourself choking on your teeth. But first, Mademoiselle is owed an apology.’
‘It doesn’t m-matter,’ stammered Athenais from the floor. ‘Really. If Monseigneur would j-just go away, we need never speak of this …’
Francis moved to stand beside Ashley, relieved that they’d avoided bloodshed. He looked the Frenchman over and, in the tone of a man who’s just found a slug crawling on his boot, said, ‘Monsieur d’Auxerre, I presume. I’d heard you had unfortunate preferences. I didn’t realise that mauling women was one of them.’
‘And who might you be?’ spat the Marquis.
‘Viscount Wroxton – quite definitely not at your service.’
The dark eyes filled with mocking spite.
‘Wroxton? I know your mother. She’s … very accommodating.’
‘Enough,’ snapped Ashley. ‘You can leave with your dignity intact or with my boot up your arse. Your choice – but make it now before my patience runs out.’
‘You will regret this,’ snarled d’Auxerre, walking up to him and staring him straight in the eye. ‘Very, very soon.’
‘The only thing I’ll regret is not pasting you to the wall,’ retorted Ashley, stepping aside. ‘Set foot in this house again, and I’ll do it. Now get out.’ And, as the Marquis strode towards the door, ‘Francis. Make sure he leaves.’
In the corner, Athenais had struggled to her knees. About to help her rise by taking her hands, Ashley changed his mind when he saw the state of her wrists where the d’Auxerre’s fingerprints would shortly become bruises. Instead, swooping down on her, he picked her up and carried her to the sofa. Her face was paper-white, she was shaking uncontrollably and trying unsuccessfully to blink away tears.
He said gently, ‘It’s all right. He’s gone and you’re safe. Did he hurt you?’
‘Not so very much.’ She squinted downwards. ‘He b-bit me.’
Ashley followed her gaze and swallowed a vicious oath.
‘He’s clearly an animal. Possibly even rabid. You’ll need to clean it and apply salve.’
‘Yes.’ The involuntary tears were coming faster now and she brushed them away with the heel of her hand to look up at him. ‘You came. Thank you. I don’t know what …’ She stopped and then added uncertainly, ‘You’re very angry.’
‘Yes.’ Of course I’m bloody angry. I’m angry that this happened at all and angry that I didn’t get here sooner – on top of which you’re looking at me as if I was God. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get over it.’
She was still cold and shaking so he put his arm round her and settled her against his chest. She curled into him, making herself as small as possible as if she’d like to crawl inside his unlaced coat. Over her head, he saw Francis standing in the doorway and responded to his look with a brief nod. Francis retreated, shutting the door behind him.
‘You can cry, you know. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘Yes it is. It’s stupid.’
‘Is it?’
She nodded and on a distinct sob said, ‘He’s torn my dress.’
‘Ah. So he has.’ Ashley chose no
t to remark that, considering the things he might have done to her, a torn gown was a mere bagatelle. ‘That’s a pity.’
‘It only came today.’ She bent her head as if to hide from him. ‘It – it’s the first new dress I’ve ever had – really new, I mean. Made especially for me.’
A pain, not unlike taking a bullet, exploded in Ashley’s chest. He wanted to promise her a dozen new gowns but, since he couldn’t, he promised himself something he could accomplish. If the bastard hurts her again, I’ll kill him.
Feeling the sudden tension in his arm, Athenais sat up and said rapidly, ‘I’m sorry. This is ridiculous – snivelling over a dress. Pauline will be able to mend it for me. So I really don’t know why I was crying.’ It seemed vitally important that he knew she wasn’t so feeble that she’d cry over anything. ‘I never cry.’
‘I’m perfectly aware that it’s not just the dress – so you don’t need to apologise for anything.’ Laying a hand against her hair, Ashley pulled her head back against his shoulder. ‘Tell me. Who let the Marquis into the house?’
‘No one. He s-said the door was unlocked.’
‘So he walked in on you unannounced?’
‘Yes.’
‘I see.’ He kept his tone calm but his temper was almost at boiling point. ‘And who might have left the door unlocked?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps someone just forgot. Or if Suzon, ran out to buy something …’
‘Well. I think we’ll take steps to make sure it doesn’t happen again.’ In fact, we’ll take a number of new precautions … because I doubt very much if d’Auxerre will leave matters as they are. He looked down at her, noticing that the colour was returning to her face. ‘Do you feel a little better?’
‘Yes. I’m perfectly well now. Thank you.’
He watched, as seemingly unaware of what she did, her fingers strayed to the angry bite-mark on her breast. He wanted to replace her fingers with his mouth and clean the wound with his tongue. He knew better than to do it, of course … but his body responded automatically to the thought. She felt so right in his arms; warm, soft and fragile, and teasing his senses with some indefinable scent. He ought to let her go. She’d stopped shaking and was recovering her composure. She no longer needed comfort and he ought to let her go … only he couldn’t seem to make himself do it.