PLAYED BY THE EARL

by Alyson Chase

  But it would have been nice.

  Her heart beat double time. So, she’d decided. She would tell John the truth about herself. Cerise would warn her to think through the implications more thoroughly, chew on it from every conceivable angle, but the decision felt right.

  The dingy sign for The Burns Theatre came into view.

  Tonight. After the show, she’d sit John down and tell him all. And pray there was some way to both save her sister and remain in London. With John.

  Perhaps she could get her sister a role at the theatre, as well. Hide in plain sight, as it were. It had worked for Netta.

  She tightened her grip on his arm. John would come to their shows and afterwards treat them to a chocolate and pastry. Then she’d take Eleanor back to their apartments, tuck her in…and let John tuck Netta in after Eleanor had gone to sleep.

  She sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the slight hitch in her lungs. It could work. It would work. She’d make certain of it.

  He opened the backstage door for her and guided her in, his palm drifting lower on her back than proper.

  Perhaps she’d lay him down and tell him the truth. Men were better listeners when on a bed. More motivated to give her the answer she wanted to hear. She smiled. That plan was much more logical. Even Cerise would approve.

  “LeBlanc!” Mr. Jarvis, the stage manager, raised a hand and lumbered towards them down the hall. “I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to speak to you.” He ran a hand through his greying hair. “Who’s your friend?”

  Netta made the introductions. “Is there something the matter, Jarvis?”

  “Only the casting for Henry V.” He blew out his cheeks and looked at John. “We start rehearsals in three weeks and start selling tickets in six.”

  “You don’t want me for Bardolph any longer?” Her heart sank. Without this job, where would she and Eleanor go?

  Jarvis snorted. “Don’t be an idiot.”

  John straightened, his muscles tensing, but the stage manager paid him no heed.

  “I want you for Henry.” Jarvis folded his arms across his barrel chest and winked. “And I’m prepared to negotiate. I know how you enjoy that.” He elbowed John playfully. “Discussing her salary has become like a game between us, one I always lose. But I don’t mind. My mam always said I was too soft for business.”

  John looked at the spot where the stage manager had nudged him. He arched an eyebrow. “Yes. Miss LeBlanc is quite fond of games.”

  Netta’s heart flopped about inside her chest. The lead. Henry. It wasn’t unheard of for women to play leading men, not in the smaller theatres. But she hadn’t thought she’d have a chance to star in a show. “What about Cerise?” The wax paper bag crinkled between her fingers as she twisted it. “She’s the preeminent actress at The Burns. People come to see her.”

  “Found another theatre.” Jarvis grunted. “Leaving us after this run.”

  Netta gaped. “Leaving?” Her friend had never mentioned another theatre. Hadn’t even said she’d been auditioning. But, of course, an actress of her talent would be looking for better opportunities. She should be aiming higher.

  But it hurt that Cerise had never mentioned it. They were supposed to be friends.

  Like you’ve told her about your future plans?

  Her shoulders rounded. She had always kept a wall between herself and Cerise, between herself and everyone, and this was the consequence. She never allowed herself to get close enough to truly know a person, inside and out.

  She shot a look at John. What would it be like to have that with him? No secrets. No artifice. Just…them.

  “That’s marvelous.” John took her elbow and squeezed. “You’ll make a wonderful Henry.”

  Yes, she would. She could already envision how she’d play him. The tenor of her voice. The swagger when he walked. She held that vision for a moment, then, with a sigh, packed it away. “I can’t.”

  John frowned. “What?”

  “I can’t take the part.” She wagged her finger at Jarvis and forced a cheer she didn’t feel. “You know I don’t take leading roles. We went over this when you wanted me to play Juliet.”

  The stage manager rubbed his jaw. “Yes, but you never explained why. There will be more money.”

  Not nearly enough to make the risk worth it. Cerise’s salary barely topped Netta’s own modest one, not when she added in the wages she earned from helping to sew the costumes. And if she was going to strut upon a stage in London, even one as working class as The Burns, it had to be in a role where her identity was concealed.

  “I’m not ready for a leading role.” She tucked her bag of sweets into her reticule. “I am content with the minor parts.”

  Jarvis leaned forwards and took her hand. “I know you’re afraid, but you needn’t be. It won’t be any harder than what you already do. Besides,” he said, looking her up and down, “you’re too pretty to keep hidden behind disguises. If you let me help you, I’ll be able to make you a star.”

  John peeled the man’s fingers from her and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Miss LeBlanc must get ready for this show. If you will excuse us.” And without waiting for a response, he marched her down the hall, forcing Jarvis to leap aside or get knocked over.

  “That was rude.” She craned her head to give the manager a wan smile over her shoulder. “And I have twenty minutes yet. Plenty of time.”

  “Plenty of time for Mr. Jarvis to flirt with you,” he grumbled.

  Netta paused at her dressing room door. “What? There’s nothing between me and Jarvis.”

  “Not from any lack of interest on his part.” He pushed open the door, then caught it as it bounced off the wall and swung back towards them. He glowered back down the hall. “But at least he recognizes talent. Why don’t you want the lead role?”

  She pushed past him into the empty room. Cerise must already be dressed and backstage. Too bad. She would have been useful to avoid this conversation. “I never cared for Henry. He always struck me as overly pompous.” She sat at her dressing table chair and removed her bonnet.

  His eyebrows shot up. “Pompous? It’s a lead role. You don’t have to like him.”

  She twisted her hair up and slid the dark wig over her head. “I do.” She tucked a stray blond lock out of sight. “Haven’t you heard actresses are temperamental?”

  He stood behind her and crossed his arms, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “Every actress I’ve met wants the biggest role possible. What’s going on, poppet?”

  She pulled a pot of face paint in front of her. Her stomach pulled tight. “It’s only….” She stirred the paint with her finger, focusing on the swirling brown colors. Tell him. The odds were better that John would help rather than hinder her plans. So why were her palms sweating and her heart racing?

  “It’s the theatre, isn’t it?’ He widened his stance and nodded. “It is shabby, I agree. Wilberforce has my pantaloons cleaned twice after I sit on the seats here. Of course I can get you a job at a higher-class theatre. All you needed to do was ask.”

  “Pardon?” She twisted in her chair. “You think you can just hand me a role?”

  “Of course.” He bent over her and adjusted his cravat in the mirror. “The manager of Drury Lane has been most eager to be a guest at The Black Rose. He’ll give you a role for a night at that club.”

  “Just like that. No audition?” Her skin prickled, her face going hot. Yes, she had been prepared to ask him for his assistance in protecting Eleanor. But this was different. This was business. Her business.

  She was a professional actress, damn it. She would earn her own parts, not be rewarded with them because she’d spread her legs for a man.

  “It is good timing that this play ends in a couple of weeks.” He smirked. “I’m sure it will be a great loss for Jarvis, but he’ll survive without you.”

  “What, exactly, are you implying?”

  John lifted one shoulder, all casual
elegance. “Merely that your manager has developed a tendre for you. I suppose it is inevitable, considering that you work together every day.”

  She’d never heard anything so absurd. Jarvis was near old enough to be her father. Not that he wasn’t handsome in his own way, but they had never been anything but professional with each other. “And is proximity the only reason for a man and woman to come together? Is it merely because I reside under your roof that we have developed a relationship?”

  He pursed his lips. “It didn’t hurt.”

  Netta pushed to her feet. “I need to change into my costume. I think you should leave.”

  A line creased his brow. “Leave? It’s not as though I haven’t seen your body before.”

  She growled. Had she thought to trust this man with her most dangerous secret? This controlling popinjay who only seemed to like her because she was at hand?

  “I hope you have a good memory. You won’t be seeing it again for a long while.” She pointed to the door. “Leave.”

  He looked adorably confused, but she didn’t let it soothe her ire. Anger made it easier to keep her mouth shut. To delay the inevitable. To postpone learning how he would react to knowing who she truly was.

  Her heart twisted painfully. If she was nothing but a convenient bed-warmer, he would have no reason to keep her once he understood she couldn’t help him in his plot.

  “But—”

  “Out.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ll speak later when you’ve calmed yourself.”

  She pinched her lips tight. She didn’t trust her voice, not when he was provoking her into wanting to scream with frustration. She stabbed her finger at the door.

  “Fine.” He stomped away from her, his famous glide nowhere in sight. He turned in the entry. “Good luck on your performance tonight, although we both know you don’t need it. You’re an excellent actress. And make no mistake.” He tapped the doorjamb with the heel of his palm. “I will learn why you refuse lead roles. I will learn everything there is to know about you.”

  And with that dramatic exclamation, he whirled and disappeared from sight.

  Netta sagged into her chair. Truly, with his penchant for drama, he should have been the actor.

  She planted her elbow on her table and dropped her chin into her upraised palm.

  She hadn’t let anyone know everything about her in…forever. John Chaucer, Earl of Summerset was a risky person to be the first.

  For Eleanor’s sake, she prayed he was a gamble worth taking.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  John bent at the waist and blew on the glass pipettes arranged in a neat row in their wood holder. A cloud of dust billowed up, and he jerked his head back.

  Judith pawed his face, and he tucked her more securely under his arm. He scratched her behind her torn ear.

  Wilberforce stepped into the small laboratory. “Shall I call for a maid, sir? It will be nice to see this room put to use again.”

  John started. “What are you—” He blew out his cheeks. “Why have you been following me about all day? You are as irksome as this cat, constantly underfoot.” Judith started purring, apparently unbothered at the insult.

  “This is only the second time we’ve spoken this morn,” Wil said mildly. “Hardly underfoot.”

  “It isn’t the speaking but the lurking I complain about.” John picked up a pair of frayed leather goggles. They were similar to what his brother had worn that day, and probably the only thing that had saved his left eye.

  He replaced them on the wide table. “Why have you been following me about the house?”

  Wil didn’t answer that question, not directly, of course. “I noticed that you and Miss Netta were very silent at breakfast this morning. Has something gone amiss between you two?”

  “No. Everything is fine.” If you could consider a child-like silent treatment from the blasted woman fine. It was better than a yelling match, he supposed. But if she wasn’t talking, it was damned difficult to know why she was upset.

  “Have you perhaps reconsidered her role in your scheme?”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” John leaned back against his worktable. “You don’t want Netta to be part of it.”

  Wil firmed his jaw. “It isn’t right to involve a woman. It could be dangerous.”

  John shook his head. “That woman can handle her own. She’ll have Sudworth wrapped right around her little finger.” Netta might be the most competent woman he knew. He wouldn’t have asked her to take part in his plan if he didn’t believe her capable, or that he could protect her.

  But he couldn’t deny he also didn’t like the idea of Netta involved. A sliver of unease pricked his breast. What if something did happen to her? It would have been unconscionable if she had been merely an agent working under his command and ill befell her. Now that he knew her, liked her, the idea of harm coming to her stole his breath.

  His fingers dug into Judith’s side and she hissed, twisting from his grip and trotting from the room.

  He wouldn’t let anything happen, not to Netta. Not to any of his friends.

  Wil sniffed, looking as disgruntled as an old woman. “You must do as you see fit, of course.”

  “Thank you for that gracious acknowledgement.” John pushed off the table.

  “Shall I have a maid come clean?”

  “What for?” John pushed past his friend and headed for his study. “I’m finished playing about with my chemicals.”

  Wil followed him into the next room and stood at attention in front of the desk while John dropped into his chair. “For someone who is finished with that part of his life, you seem to be poking your head in there quite a bit lately.”

  John ground his teeth. He picked up his chair and turned it to face the window. There. Much better view of the gardens than his annoying friend’s face. “You are mistaken. I only wandered in there because I was distracted.”

  “About?”

  Throwing his legs up on the windowsill, John grumbled. “Has anyone ever told you that you show an awful amount of impertinence for a servant.”

  “Yes. You. Many times.” Wil circled the desk and stood beside John’s legs, his gaze also out the window, his hands clasped behind his back.

  A sparrow flitted under the overhang of the gazebo in the yard, adding a bit of dried grass to a nest she hurried to build before darkness fell. John followed her path as she hunted for more material to make her home.

  Perhaps he should take up bird-watching. Several other gentlemen of his acquaintance were amateur ornithologists. Yes, instead of missions saving the Crown from disaster, instead of trying to get in the head of one devilishly obdurate woman, he could watch birds. A sound plan.

  “Christ.” He scrubbed his hand across his jaw. “The woman’s gone barmy. Up and decided to give me the silent treatment last night, for no reason.”

  The one eyebrow that John could see on Wil’s face raised in a slow arch.

  “It’s true,” John insisted. “We were having a perfectly pleasant conversation about her future prospects, and she went and got all huffy. Women.” He slapped his thigh. “When you want peace, all they do is jabber; when you want to know what the problem is, they close up tighter than a nun’s knees.”

  “I’ve never heard Miss Netta jabber.”

  “Hmpf.” John slouched lower in his seat. That may be true, but it only made it more frustrating. If Netta told him what the problem was, he could fix it.

  She’d seemed to get particularly ill-tempered when he’d discussed that manager of hers. John had only spoken the truth. Touching her hand. Giving her calf eyes. A fool could see the man wouldn’t say no to having an affair with her.

  And who could blame him? They both worked in the same industry. She was beautiful and cunning. Jarvis was a bit old for Netta, probably ten years John’s senior, but some women seemed to like that. Who knew? After she and John parted ways, why wouldn’t she tur
n to the manager?

  His stomach clenched.

  She could turn to any number of men. And John wouldn’t have any say about it.

  He dropped his feet to the floor and stood. “I’m going to get her to talk.”

  “She went to Lady Mary’s club.” Wil turned to face him, a suspicious twinkle in his eye. “When you do speak with her, a bit of advice?”

  John plucked an onyx-headed walking stick from the stand and gave it a twirl. “Your track record with women isn’t such that anyone should take advice from you.”

  “I know enough,” Wil said. “And one thing I’ve learned is not to tell a woman that you take no blame in a disagreement. And truly, how likely was that in any case?”

  John turned his back on the man’s smirk and strode to the front door. He called for his carriage and hopped in when it arrived, telling the driver to make haste.

  And make haste he did. Not ten minutes later they rolled up to the front steps of the building May had rented for her endeavor.

  A burly footman was just lighting the lamps bracketing the front doors. He stepped in front of John, blocking his path. “Apologies, but this club is for members only.”

  “I’m a member,” he gritted out.

  The man looked him up and down and twisted his lips. “It’s a women’s club. You might dress as fine as one, but that doesn’t make you a member of the fairer sex.”

  John gaped, outraged. “Does Lady Mary know the insolence of her staff? I’ll have you know my investment paid for your services, and I can make sure they are terminated just as fast.”

  The door swung inward, and Auntie May stood framed in the entrance. “Johnnie. We did agree that you’d have no control over the management of my club. I’ll have you know I hired him because of his delightful insolence. But,” she said, turning to the footman, “this man is always welcome.” She pressed her lips together and squinted at the sky. “Well, almost always welcome. The Venus and Bacchus nights he should be denied entrance. Our female members might be uncomfortable otherwise.” She waved her hand in welcome and John stepped through, knocking the footman with his shoulder as he passed.