PLAYED BY THE EARL

by Alyson Chase

  He pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. “Such a bloodless sentiment about men is enough to give me the wrong impression of the fairer sex.”

  Cerise unfolded from her chair. “And you are?” She stood so half of her body blocked Netta from John.

  Netta grabbed the belt of her friend’s wrapper and tugged her back. “It’s all right. He’s…a friend.”

  John slowly arched an eyebrow, and every dirty thing they’d done together flashed through her mind.

  She flushed. Truly, she was an experienced woman. She should be past such embarrassments. She cleared her throat. “Cerise, this is John, Earl of Summerset. Summerset, this is Miss Cerise DuBois.” She cocked her head. “Did Wilberforce finally betray me?”

  There was a sharp inhale of air from the hall.

  John pushed the door wider, revealing a flinty-eyed Wilberforce.

  He sniffed. “I am not in the habit of revealing confidences, miss.”

  “I followed you on my own initiative,” John said. He shrugged. “I was curious about your nightly liaisons.” He strolled about the small room, picking up a discarded costume here, poking at her jars of face paint there. He cocked a hip against the edge of her dressing table, his very closeness making the fine hairs on her body stand on end. “And my curiosity was well rewarded. You are quite the surprise, poppet.”

  She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. “You’re not angry?”

  “What? That you’re not only not Ned Pickle, but now you aren’t even Netta Pickle, the downtrodden woman I plucked from the streets?” He tutted. “Not hardly. Please tell me your name isn’t truly Pickle.”

  She bit back her smile. “You’re in luck. My name is Antoinette LeBlanc.” The false name slipped easily from between her lips. She’d been that person for so many years it felt like the truth. “Netta still to my friends.”

  He ran his finger down the ridge of her nose then rubbed his fingers together, swirling a patch of face paint between them. “A much more suitable name, although not, I think, the one you were born with.”

  Netta’s lungs stalled. She hadn’t even told Cerise her true name. It remained better left unsaid. “It’s the only one I answer to now. Well,” she conceded, “except Pickle.”

  “And Mrs. Hardcourt and Colonel Burnwick and Miss Austin.” Cerise retreated to her chair, keeping a wary eye on the man in the doorway as she spoke. “Netta does love to immerse herself in new characters to prepare for a role. It is one of the things we love about her. She has many friends here, monsieur. Many friends who won’t let her come to any harm.”

  John ignored the implied warning. “A Colonel Burnwick?”

  Netta shrugged. “I played a soldier last summer.”

  He examined her bare arms, dropped his gaze to her breeches. “Were you wearing a uniform?”

  “Of course.”

  He grinned. “I do wish I could have seen that.”

  Netta stood and rested one knee on the seat of the chair. “Now that you’ve discovered me, has anything changed? Do I still have the job?” Her heart thumped in her chest. He didn’t appear upset, but no man liked to be deceived. To acknowledge he’d been played for a fool.

  But John was no ordinary man. “The only thing that has changed is my increased regard for your skill level and my confidence in your abilities.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I know now I needn’t worry about your security. You can handle yourself.”

  Wilberforce huffed. Loudly.

  John shot him a narrow-eyed glare.

  Netta gripped the back of the chair, her muscles going weak. He wasn’t taking the four thousand pounds away from her. She could still rescue her sister.

  “Now, poppet, perhaps we might discuss— gah!” John kicked his foot, and a small furry animal flew across the room and hit the wall. He flicked his wrist, and a blade slid from his sleeve into his palm. He bent his arm back to take aim.

  Netta stilled his hand. “Cerise and I would prefer not to have blood in our dressing rooms.”

  His nostrils flared, his gaze remaining sharp on the intruder. “Better a bit of blood than that disgusting creature.”

  She snorted. “Is the mighty Earl of Summerset afraid of a little mouse?”

  Wilberforce stepped to the creature and nudged it out the door with his boot.

  “The Burns Theatre doesn’t have the funds to keep the rats out.” Cerise ran the end of her belt through her fingers. When Wilberforce limped back into the room, she took a corresponding step away from him. “Netta and I have learned how to manage all kinds of vermin.”

  Wilberforce clenched and relaxed his hands, a gesture so quick it was easily missed. “If I’m near, that is a job you’ll no longer have to perform yourself.”

  Cerise crossed her arms.

  Wilberforce mirrored her stance.

  Netta frowned at her friend. “Um, perhaps whatever it was you wanted to discuss is best done in private,” she said to John. Cerise wasn’t overly fond of strange men, but her reaction to Wilberforce was still perplexing. Usually she buttered her words to strangers as heavily as Netta did her morning roll. “Cerise, would you mind waiting next door?”

  Wilberforce frowned. “She’s in naught but a wrapper. Whatever talking needs to be done can wait until you’re both properly dressed.”

  “I’m an actress, cherie.” The endearment came out as sharp as John’s blade. “I’ve walked around backstage in much less than zis.”

  Wilberforce’s face turned a dull red.

  “It can wait until we reach home.” John tucked the dagger back up his sleeve. “Or better yet, since I now know that you’re ready, perhaps we can start upon the job tonight. I’d like to show you around some gaming hells. Rouse interest in my suggestive yet shy and retiring new companion. My quarry should be in one of them. Men who gamble to the extent he does can’t stay away.”

  “You want me to go into gaming hells?” Her stomach sank to her boots.

  “Yes.” John ran a hand up the back of his head, rumpling his hair. “That is where one typically finds games, and gamblers.”

  “Yes. Right.” She concentrated on keeping her breathing steady, her hands still by her sides. When he’d spoken of the game, she’d envisioned it at John’s home. Somewhere private. Safe. How many of her father’s contemporaries went to these hells? And more importantly, would they recognize the woman she was now?

  She searched about for an excuse and came up with a plum one. “I have nothing to wear. I came to the theatre in my trousers.”

  John frowned. “We’ll stop at home, of course. Mags will have you dressed in your new costume in no time at all. And bring your face paint. I want you to look as young as possible.”

  “I don’t have face paint. I’ll have to purchase some tomorrow.”

  He looked pointedly at the small jars on her table.

  “I don’t have the right face paint.” She worried the hem of her chemisette. “If you want me to shed a couple of years, I will need to go shopping.”

  A divot appeared in Cerise’s forehead, and she opened her mouth.

  Netta gave a brief shake to her head, and her friend took the hint and remained quiet.

  John took a step towards her. “Is there some reason you don’t wish to accompany me?”

  Her mind went blank. If she told him there were men she must avoid, her use to him would become nonexistent. There would go her four thousand pounds. If she were to do a thorough job of disguising herself, she would need more time to prepare.

  More time to steel her nerve.

  “I…” Her mouth went dry.

  John looked at Wilberforce and jerked his chin at the door.

  His man held out his arm. “Miss?” he said to Cerise. “I’ll escort you to the neighboring room. If you’ll come with me?”

  Cerise looked from John to Wilberforce to Netta.

  Netta nodded, and Cerise swept from the room, the ends of her wrapper swirling a
bout her legs.

  Wilberforce jerked his gaze up and blew out a breath as he followed, closing the door softly behind him.

  “Now,” John said, planting his hands on his lean hips, “what is the problem?”

  She couldn’t think of a believable excuse. One that would keep her in his employ yet avoid threat of detection. She, devious, scheming Netta, was drawing a blank.

  “I’ve started my monthly courses,” she blurted out. “I feel unwell.”

  His face blanched, and she sent a prayer heavenward. The magical words to end all inquiries. She should have thought of it sooner.

  “Yes.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Certainly you must stay home. When we arrive, I’ll ask Margaret to draw you a warm bath, shall I?”

  Her throat went thick. He truly was a dear man. So much more considerate and sweeter than he liked to admit.

  And she’d lied to him. Again. A small one to be sure, but they were adding up. How many lies would he allow before his forgiveness ran dry?

  “Thank you.” She turned her back and crossed to the small wardrobe. “I’ll dress and be right out.”

  “Of course.”

  It hardly mattered. If all went as planned, he would never know of her guilt. She would remain a fond memory of his, the actress he once knew who helped him in his time of need.

  And she would be across the ocean clinging to the memory of the surprising earl who’d made her laugh long after she’d thought such fancy was lost to her.

  He paused behind her and pressed his lips to the curve where her neck met her shoulder. “There is an Italian opera at Drury Lane four nights hence. I’d very much like it if you’d accompany me there.”

  She tilted her head, giving him better access. “To rouse the interest of the men of your acquaintance?”

  “Yes. In part.” He ran the tip of his tongue up her neck to behind her ear.

  She shuddered.

  “I also intend to enjoy your company to the fullest extent while I have you,” he murmured. He scraped his teeth over her earlobe. “Now hurry up and dress.” He patted her bottom before moving to the hallway, taking his warmth and intoxicating scent with him. “I’ll be waiting.”

  He closed the door behind him, and she shut her eyes. They’d both be waiting. Her excuse to avoid the hells didn’t seem so clever anymore. Her deception had just removed her from his bed for the next few days.

  She dropped her head to her chest.

  Hoisted by her own lying petard. It was going to be a long couple of nights.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Netta arranged the velvet hood over her head and sucked in a deep breath. Time to start the show.

  She took John’s hand and stepped from his carriage. The gas lights of the Drury dazzled her eyes and she inched closer to John. As a child, she had longed to come here, to see a show so badly she could have burst from the wanting. Now, the theatre held a different sort of appeal. What would it be like to tread upon the boards of such an acclaimed stage? To hear the applause from thousands of spectators?

  The crowds had thinned, the first act already begun. John had agreed with her assessment that a late arrival would only increase her allure. With the subtle shading of face paint, a slight powder to her hair, and a cloak hiding her features, she strode through the front doors with the nariest of qualms.

  “Have you ever seen The Barber of Seville?” John nodded to a couple in the lobby but kept his stride even as they made for his box.

  “No.” She’d never seen any opera. Her wages didn’t allow for such extravagance.

  John drew back the curtain to his personal box and ushered her inside. “Good. We haven’t missed overmuch,” he whispered. “If you have any questions, let me know.”

  She nodded, her gaze transfixed. No warped and discolored wooden boards made up the stage here. The thick, red velvet curtains were held back by ornate brass hooks, and what they revealed….

  “Oh!” She sank to her seat and leaned forwards, resting her elbows on the box ledge. “Look at those costumes.”

  John settled next to her and pressed a pair of opera glasses into her hand. “Not as charming as wax noses and warts to my mind.”

  She shot him an exasperated look before turning her full attention back to the stage. The lead female, Rosina, was beautiful and tragic. The Count desperate in his longing for her. Netta sighed in delight and blocked out the rest of the world.

  The curtains fell on the first act, and she blinked as the house lights came on.

  “I take it you find the evening’s entertainment agreeable.” John’s voice held laughter, and when she turned to look at him, it was matched by the crinkles around his eyes.

  “Very much so.” She leaned back in her seat. “It’s more than I ever imagined.”

  “Do you sing?”

  “Not well. Watching a musical production is as close as I will ever get to such a performance.” She shook her head. “I can never thank…” She trailed off as John’s entire body went stiff. His gaze was fixed over her left shoulder, his nostrils flaring.

  “What is it?” she asked, craning her neck but seeing nothing of account. Realizing her hood had slipped down her shoulders during the performance, she hastily pulled it back over her head.

  “No one of account.” John sat back. He took the opera glasses from her hand and slapped them against his palm. “Only my grandmother.”

  “Your grandmother?” She searched the boxes opposite in earnest, looking for a distinctive pair of cobalt eyes or set of high cheekbones. It was no use. Not from such a distance. She turned to reclaim the glasses, but John had already put them to use, peering through their lenses, his jaw clenched.

  “Do you want to pay your compliments?” Netta followed the direction of the glasses. A woman with a fringe of snowy white hair beneath a red turban stared intently back in their direction. “I’m happy to wait here while you do.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” John said, his words clipped. “We no longer speak.”

  “But she’s your grandmother.” Unless the woman had tried to sell her grandson in marriage to a monster, Netta couldn’t understand how such a close family member could be ignored.

  “Your point?” He tucked the opera glasses into his coat pocket.

  She pursed her lips. “My point is that she’s your grandmother.” This shouldn’t be hard to comprehend. “You are a product of her loins. Doesn’t that deserve a greeting upon meeting in public?”

  “Perhaps you should refrain from speaking on matters of which you have no knowledge.”

  Her spine snapped straight. “And perhaps you could give me such knowledge so I can speak with more authority.”

  They glared at each other.

  “Is this a bad time?”

  Netta started. A man with a startingly bushy beard held back the curtains to John’s box. The woman next to him had thick auburn hair and curious eyes. The top of her head just reached the man’s shoulder.

  John stood. “No, I welcome any interruption.”

  Netta huffed but rolled to her feet, as well.

  “Netta, may I introduce you to Maximillian Atwood, Baron of Sutton, and his charming wife, Colleen, the baroness.” John waved his hand at Netta. “Max, Colleen, this is Miss Antoinette LeBlanc. Netta to those she delights in bedeviling.”

  Netta dropped a curtsy and smiled tightly. “I can assure you that only the earl finds me such. I am a positive delight to those who are worthy of my good graces.”

  John looked heavenward.

  The baroness laughed. “I can readily disbelieve his description of you as he has so misconstrued my own character. No one has ever called me charming before.”

  “I think you’re charming,” her husband protested.

  She patted his arm. “As you are legally obligated to do since we wed.”

  Sutton grumbled. “I always thought it.”

  John pressed his fists into his lower back
and stretched. “How are you enjoying the show? I believe Miss Luciano is having a particularly superior performance tonight.”

  Sutton tugged on his beard. “I didn’t come here to talk nonsense about performances. Step out with me. I’d like a moment of your time.” The words seemed more demand than request. Having delivered them, Sutton lumbered outside, letting the curtains fall shut.

  John pressed his lips together. “If you ladies will excuse us. I’ll return with refreshments, after knocking some civility into my friend.” He picked up Colleen’s hand and kissed the back. “Never doubt it, my dear. Compared to your husband, you embody all the charm in the world.”

  Colleen watched the curtain drop closed and crossed her arms. “That man knows how to give a double-edged compliment like nobody else.” She turned. “But I’m certain you are already aware of that.”

  Netta gestured to the chairs and both women took a seat. “Have you known him long?”

  “Summerset?” Colleen shook out her russet skirts. Her gown was simple, but of a fine chiffon and expertly made. “Not nearly long enough to understand him. I met him shortly after I met my husband. He helped us out of a difficult situation.” Her face softened. “He is a good friend, to the both of us.”

  Netta leaned on her armrest. “Yes, of course.” John would be someone his friends could depend upon. He certainly took his role as his brother’s protector seriously. “But do you know him? What happened to his brother? Why did he stop studying chemistry? And what is the dispute between him and his grandmother?”

  Colleen blinked. “Well.” She blinked some more. “Now I feel that I don’t know him at all. He has always been a bit of an enigma beneath his mask of indifference. I didn’t know he studied chemistry, much less that he had a grandmother.” She tilted her head. “Well, I’d assume he had a grandmother. Everyone does somewhere. But not one with whom he had a fraught relationship.”

  Netta slumped back into her chair. This had seemed a golden opportunity to do some of her own poking about. Perhaps she should try to corner Lord Sutton. He would be better informed.