by Linda Ladd
"You made me spill my drink,” she stuttered breathlessly, her eyes on his face, half-hidden by shadows.
"You shouldn't be drinking anyway, English. You do remember the night of the storm, don't you?"
She remembered it all right, and the shiver that coursed over her proved it.
"I've been looking for you. Why have you been hiding out here?” His lips brushed her earlobe as he spoke, raising gooseflesh to her toes, and Alysson swallowed hard, feeling weak.
"Please, please let me go. Someone will see us."
"It's too dark for anyone to see us. Have you missed me, sweet? Have you regretted saying no to me so quickly?"
"No,” she lied, her whole body beginning to quiver from the way he was leaning his hard, muscular body into hers.
He laughed softly. “My offer still holds, you know. I want you. Now. Tonight. Come home with me."
More than anything, Alysson wanted to slide her arms around his neck and press against him, but she couldn't let herself do it. She would not, would not become another of his mistresses. Like the Russian. The thought of the Countess Kinski brought anger with it.
"How callous can you be?” she hissed softly. “To do this with me, here and now, when your lover is just steps away from us. Do you really think I want to take her place and be treated that way?"
She tried to pull away, but his fingers held her arms.
"Marina's with Brace tonight. There's nothing between us anymore, except friendship. I want you, and only you."
Alysson leaned her head against the tree, eyes wide, his words bringing an appalling pleasure to her.
"I won't be your mistress,” she managed with shaky conviction. “I'll never be your—"
His lips cut off the words, hot, demanding, and a moan was forced from her as his hands slid down her body to clamp her slender hips tightly against his hard thighs.
"Yes you will, English. Someday I'll have you,” he whispered huskily, and the underlying arrogance of his words did much to steel the weakness seeping over Alysson.
"Why should I settle for that?” she said, trying again to push him away from her. “I have already met another man, Douglas Compton. He finds me attractive. Perhaps he'll want me for his wife—"
Donovan grabbed her by the arms then, his face dark. “A word of warning, Alysson—stay away from him. Everybody in the city knows how he makes a game of seducing the actresses that work for him, only to discard them when the next one comes along."
"Then he sounds a lot like you, doesn't he?” Alysson retorted, finally able to twist away from him, only to find Douglas Compton and Adam Sinclair standing a few feet away.
"Alysson? We've been looking for you,” Douglas said slowly, his eyes on Donovan MacBride, who stood just behind Alysson.
"I'm afraid I was ungentlemanly enough to cause her to spill champagne on her dress,” Donovan explained smoothly. “But I believe it has dried now, hasn't it, Miss Tyler?"
"Yes,” Alysson murmured, her face so hot that she knew they must suspect something more had happened between them. How much of their conversation had Douglas overheard?
"I see,” Douglas said, glancing at Adam, then back to Donovan. “I don't believe you've met Adam Sinclair, have you, Mr. MacBride?"
"No, I haven't had the pleasure, but your reputation on stage precedes you. I understand you're a brilliant actor,” Donovan replied, stretching out his hand.
"Thank you very much. It's nice to hear that."
Alysson was more than relieved when Douglas took her elbow.
"I was hoping for the first dance with you, my dear. May I have that honor?"
"Of course,” she said too eagerly, but she felt much safer as she accompanied Douglas inside and went into his arms, far away from Donovan MacBride's more dangerous embrace. They whirled around the floor amid the other dancers, and Alysson began to discount Donovan's warning about Douglas Compton. It was Donovan who made her feel helpless and vulnerable and out of control, not Douglas.
It was much later that night when Alysson blew out the bedside candle and crawled beneath the soft, downy coverlet beside Odette.
"Did you see the young officer who danced with me so many times, Alysson?” came Odette's sleepy whisper. “He was fine to look upon, do you not think it? Big and blond and handsome in his blue uniform. He is an American lieutenant, Jonathan Wheeling, and he is quite taken with me, I can tell it. He has already asked Rosalie if he could call here upon me. Do you think he will?"
"Yes, I am sure he will."
"Ooh la-la, he is so divine. I cannot wait to see him again."
Odette's words dwindled into a yawn, and Alysson stared wide-eyed into the darkness, not sleepy at all.
"Odette?"
"Oui?"
"Mr. MacBride asked me to become his mistress again tonight."
"He wants you very much, chérie. I could see it in those black eyes of his."
Alysson turned her head on the pillow. “How can you tell?"
"He watched you when he first came when you were with Monsieur Compton. Poor Madame Kinski. She watched him as he watched you, and who can blame her for being so sad? Monsieur MacBride is magnifique."
Alysson smiled dreamily, remembering the way he had said he wanted her, the way his lips had felt against her skin. “Yes, he is magnificent, isn't he?"
A few moments passed with only the ticking of the clock, then Alysson stirred again.
"Odette?"
"Oui?"
"You have known a man, haven't you? You know, in that way. When you were back in France?"
"Oui, I have been with a man."
"Does it make you feel strange when they touch you? I mean, have you ever felt all shaky and hot, and really quite sick, almost?"
Odette giggled at her description. “You silly little goose. You are in love with Monsieur MacBride. That is why you feel that way. Don't you even know it yet?"
Alysson didn't answer, and Odette eventually settled down to sleep. Was Odette right? Did she love him that much? She searched her heart for the answer, lying awake in the darkness, listening to Odette's soft snore. She did flame up to meet his every touch, like fire to a wick, and she swallowed hard to think of how hot his lips had felt, searing her skin and making her heart pound. He wanted her, she knew he wanted her, but he couldn't really love her or he would want to marry her. Would being his mistress be such a terrible thing? She wondered. Most men had mistresses, and Odette had said that gentlemen often spent more time with their mistresses than their wives.
No, she said firmly to herself, realizing she was beginning to waver in her resolve. She didn't want that. She wanted to be his wife.
As light misted the room, bringing looming shadows along the walls, she finally closed her eyes and sighed, drifting into troubled dreams.
Chapter 11
At half past eleven the next morning, Douglas Compton sat behind the large mahogany desk in his study. He leaned back, folding his hands on his chest as he contemplated Adam Sinclair, who sat with crossed legs in a green velvet wing chair across from him.
"I thought it quite odd that Alysson Tyler seemed so sure you were acquainted with her mother,” he said, watching Adam with narrowed eyes. “Were you telling her the truth?"
Adam lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. “I was in England for a long time and knew a great many ladies, but I don't recall one named Judith Hampstead. As I told the girl, I would have remembered that cross. Usually it was the women who gave me expensive gifts."
He grinned, but Douglas remained silent as a heavyset Negress in a white apron and red bandanna entered carrying a small gold tray. He took a snifter of brandy from it, swirling it absently as Henrietta presented the tray to his guest. As the maid left, he watched Adam take a drink.
"It's a shame you weren't involved with her mother,” he commented. “It would have presented you with a perfect way to gain her confidence, but I suppose it's too late now to change your story."
"I think I could gain he
r confidence, if you'll let me try. She's a lovely creature."
Compton smiled. “Yes, she's quite beautiful, and young and naïve enough to influence rather easily, I should think. But I'll be the one to do it. Once we get her working at the Park, I should have no trouble winning her over.” He sipped his brandy, thoughtfully surveying the actor across from him. “There's something going on between MacBride and her. I can feel it, and I think we interrupted something between them in the garden last night. Do you get that impression?"
Adam shrugged again. “He was probably trying to seduce her. You know how he is with women.” He shifted in his chair, leaning forward to take a cigar from the enameled box atop Douglas's desk. He clipped it, holding it to his nose to sniff its aroma. “Maybe MacBride recruited her to work against us,” he suggested as he lit it. “And if that is the case, you should be cautious about forming any kind of relationship with her. According to Rosalie Handel, she's one hell of a good actress, and more than one man has been undone by a woman like her. I don't relish the thought of facing an American hangman because of her."
Douglas stiffened visibly, then hunched forward, both his palms flat on the desk. His brown eyes became hard, dissolving his usual amicable expression.
"Don't ever take me for a fool, Adam. I will use the girl as I see fit. She can be very useful to me."
Adam smiled. “If you can get her to work for us."
Compton's face relaxed again. “Let me worry about that. I expect you to help me with her. They should be here soon, and we can get started."
When the grandfather clock in Douglas Compton's vestibule struck the noonday hour, Alysson and Rosalie were led past it into the elaborate front receiving parlor to await the master of the house.
"Isn't Mr. Compton's house beautifully done?” Rosalie remarked, and Alysson looked around at the rich wall covering of cream brocade flocked with pale blue fleur-de-lis. The furnishings were elegantly crafted, and polished to a glossy shine. Alysson picked up a fragile porcelain shepherdess with crook and lamb, examining the exquisite detail. She turned as Douglas entered the room behind her.
"Ladies! I am so glad you could join me on such short notice. You have both met Mr. Sinclair, I believe."
Alysson nodded; she was inwardly dismayed to find that Adam Sinclair was to join them, but she shook it off quickly. Perhaps he might remember her mother yet. She watched as Douglas came toward her, finding it impossible not to respond to his charm as he squeezed both her hands affectionately.
"Thank you so much for coming. We have some exciting things to discuss."
He opened a set of sliding wooden doors, revealing a small, intimate dining parlor decorated in shades of lavender and green. Two maids waited in unobtrusive positions at either end of a long sideboard. Douglas seated Alysson at the table to his right while Adam held Rosalie's chair for her. The men took their places at the ends of the table, and Douglas gestured to the maids, then kept a light and entertaining repartee going as they were served the first course, a cold salad of shrimp and savory rice. It wasn't until they were nearly finished with the sweet course of pound cake and glazed cherries that Douglas leaned back to gaze down the table at Rosalie.
"Besides my fondness for entertaining beautiful ladies,” he began, smiling, “I'm afraid I have an ulterior motive for inviting the two of you here today."
"Indeed?” Rosalie cocked an elegant curved eyebrow. “That sounds quite ominous, coming from a man so renowned for charming the ladies."
Alysson looked quickly at the redheaded woman, well aware that Rosalie's remark was aimed at her. During their entire carriage ride from the boarding house, she had endured Rosalie's lengthy accounts of Douglas Compton's reputation for seducing the young actresses at the Park, many such affairs having ended in duels. But even so, Alysson still found such a notorious reputation at odds with her impression of her quiet-spoken, smiling host.
"Not ominous, I assure you.” Douglas gave his easy laugh. “But very exciting. You see, I have had a wonderful idea which concerns the two of you, and Adam as well. That's why I asked him to join us."
Alysson glanced at Adam and found him looking at her. The expression in his eyes was as distinctly unsettling as it was fleeting. She lowered her own gaze, disturbed by the look he had hidden so quickly beneath a friendly smile. It had been so intense, so intimate, that it was almost chilling. But what had it been? Hunger? Or perhaps longing? The idea frightened her, and she decided in that moment that it was Adam Sinclair of whom she should be wary. She kept her eyes away from him after that, watching Douglas instead.
"I don't know if you are aware of it, since you arrived from England so recently, but Adam's been working with me at the Park. We're in preparation for a production of King Lear at the moment."
"I have heard much of your talent,” Rosalie said to Adam with genuine admiration. “I assume you will play the title role?"
Adam nodded, and Douglas went on. “He will be superb as Lear, but I have need of a supporting cast for him. After having met all of your company yesterday at the Battery, I realized they would fit my needs splendidly. Your talent is as well proclaimed as Adam's, Madame Handel, and you told me last night yourself that Alysson is very good."
Alysson raised her eyes to Rosalie, unable to hide the excitement in them, but Rosalie appeared only mildly interested. She raised her glass and drank, now the businesswoman.
"We have been offered a play at the Macon Theater, but if your offer is substantially better, I'll be happy to consider it."
Douglas did not hesitate. “I'll double whatever it is,” he offered, shocking Alysson. His eyes came to her, warm and friendly, before he looked back at Rosalie. “You see, Adam and I both think you would be wonderful as Goneril, and we thought Alysson would be good as Cordelia."
Cordelia, Alysson thought in wonderment. A marvelous part, and she knew the role of Lear's youngest-daughter well. She put eager attention on Rosalie.
"You have hired yourself a cast, Mr. Compton,” Rosalie said. “Providing, of course, that we can come to mutually satisfying financial terms. But I only have three men and one other girl, as you are aware."
"That will be no problem at all, madame, and I thought perhaps you and Adam might sit down for a few minutes now to discuss the various role assignments. You see, I want the rehearsals to start immediately. The opening performance is already scheduled for August eighth, when the current play ends."
"We are finished now, aren't we?” Adam said, taking his cue. “Perhaps Madame Handel and I could use your study for our discussion."
"Of course, and while you are busy there, I would be delighted to show Miss Tyler around my gardens. They are quite pleasant in the daytime."
He was up, drawing back Alysson's chair before any of them could protest. Though Rosalie watched with displeasure as he escorted her charge out of the tall French doors into the garden, she had no choice but to follow Adam Sinclair into the adjoining study.
Outside, Douglas held Alysson's arm as he guided her along the graveled garden paths.
"Are you pleased about playing Cordelia?” he asked, “or would you rather have one of the other parts?"
"I have always wanted to play her,” Alysson admitted, “but I am most willing to take any role Rosalie decides upon. I love to act, but I am very new at it. I hope I won't disappoint you."
Douglas looked down into the slanted green eyes raised to him. “I think it would be very hard for you to disappoint me, Alysson."
It was the first time he had used her given name, and the softness of his tone was almost like a caress.
"You're very kind,” she murmured, stepping away to look at the red roses twining around a nearby trellis.
Douglas broke the stem of one of the largest blossoms. “This will, no doubt, be the first of dozens of roses thrown at your feet. I can foresee it already."
"I have often dreamed of such a thing,” she admitted with a small smile, then sobered as she remembered a different night when she
had confided all her dreams and aspirations to Donovan. She couldn't make herself so vulnerable to a man again, she vowed, and she sat down on a nearby iron bench.
The shade there was deep and cool, and as Douglas sat down beside her, Alysson listened to the sounds of the city filtering over the high brick wall surrounding the garden. Somewhere down the street a vendor hawked hot corn, and closer to her a horse and wagon clopped and rattled its way past the Compton house.
"I am afraid I have a confession to make, Alysson,” Douglas said, and surprised, Alysson looked up to find his brown eyes riveted on her in abject apology. “There is something I haven't told you about myself, and now that I have gotten to know you a bit, I feel rather guilty about it."
"I don't understand."
Douglas hesitated, hoping he wasn't making a mistake with what he was about to say.
"You see, I knew you were coming to New York, even before you arrived. I learned of it in a letter from your father."
It took every ounce of Alysson's willpower to meet his searching look. “You are a friend of my father's?"
Although she was trying hard to hide it, Douglas was perceptive enough to realize she was distressed by his revelation. Not about to destroy the fragile tenet of their budding friendship, he was hasty to reassure her.
"Not really. Actually, I don't know his Lordship well at all; we're only occasional business associates. But he did mention in his last correspondence to me just a few Weeks ago that you would be arriving on the Halcyone. He suggested that I call on you sometime to make you feel welcome."
"Oh, I see,” Alysson murmured, not able to imagine her father being that solicitous to her welfare. She nervously fingered the soft petals of the rose in her hands, glad Douglas was not a good friend of her father's. “You have certainly done that by offering me employment. I am very grateful to you for that."