A Reckless Desire (19 page)

But Lucia deserved more from him than that. Her words this morning about how he lived too much through his books had struck home. He wanted to prove to her that he could be as impetuous and romantic as any Neapolitan. He was determined to put aside his customary British reserve, and share with her a side of himself that no one else had ever seen, and prove to her that he knew how to experience the very best that life had to offer firsthand, not through words written by another.

Lightly he kissed the top of her head, her dark hair mussed like a child's from her hat, and she stirred, but did not wake. He hoped she'd understand. No, he
knew
she would, because she was Lucia.

There was one more thing he intended to share with her tonight, something he would have already revealed if she hadn't fallen asleep. Tucked inside his coat was the letter from Mr. McGraw, the manager of the Russell Street Theatre. The letter had arrived shortly before he and Lucia had left for Newbury, and though Rivers had had time to read it only once, the significance of its contents had been running through his mind all afternoon.

When he'd first made his wager with Everett, he'd envisioned training Lucia to perform a single scene for Everett and a small circle of other acquaintances in the drawing room of his house in Cavendish Square. If there were interest enough, he might even have hired the ballroom of a local inn, and offered a subscription for tickets, so she'd have some kind of payment for her performance that didn't come from him.

That would have been sufficient to win the wager, and it was how he'd described to her his plans for a performance when she'd asked, early in their time together. She had trusted him to make whatever arrangements were necessary, and had asked nothing more, concentrating instead on perfecting her role.

But as Rivers had discovered the depth of Lucia's talent and witnessed the progress she'd made, his own ambitions for her had grown. He'd no longer be content with an amateur performance for an invited audience. He wanted her to have the opportunity to become a true actress, able to make her living on the stage, the way that she wanted. She'd said he believed in her and he did, and to prove it, he'd written to McGraw to request an audition for Lucia to play Ophelia in a staged production of
Hamlet
at the Russell Street Theatre.

It would be considered a benefit, a single, pared-down performance on a single night, the kind of thing that was often done in the theater, but it would also become a public audition for her as an actress. In that night, she'd also become a professional, for while McGraw would take his share of the ticket sales, Rivers intended to make sure that she herself would receive the lion's share of the benefit's profits, a surprise reward.

Russell Street was second only to Garrick's own Theatre Royal in Drury Lane—the two playhouses were in fact within sight of each other—and a very grand place indeed for an aspiring actress to make her debut before the notoriously critical London crowds. Now the manager would present himself at the Lodge in three days for an impromptu audition, and Lucia would take her first step toward being the actress she'd always wanted to be.

It was the greatest gift that Rivers could give her, one that would make an entire shop of clothes pale in comparison. Yet as much as he wished her to have her dream, he did not want her to think there was any obligation to him in return. If they became lovers—which he now hoped very much that they would—he wanted her to come to his bed freely. He wanted her to love him for himself, and not because she felt she owed him for this very sizable opportunity.

It was foolish of him to be so sentimental, he knew, and he could only imagine how his brothers and friends would howl with laughter if they ever learned. She'd earned this chance, and she deserved it. From the very difference in their rank, his relationship with Lucia would always have an inescapable mercenary air to it. But for tonight at least, he could pretend otherwise. He could simply enjoy her company for who she was, and pray she did the same with him.

Of course he'd tell her when the time was right, and he reminded himself again of how much he wanted her to have it. Because he did, didn't he?

For now, McGraw's letter and its news would keep for another day or two, buried deep in his pocket and away from his heart.

“
Almost ready
,
ma'am,” Sally said, critically arranging the gathers at the back of Lucia's skirts. The maid had had experience dressing ladies, and was on occasion called up to Breconridge Hall to help with the guests for balls. “His lordship wanted everything perfect before he sees you.”

Obediently Lucia stood without moving, even as her heart raced with anticipation. She had dressed countless other women at the playhouse, but she'd never before been the one being dressed, and it was an odd experience. She sat still as a statue while Sally had brushed out her long hair and skillfully curled and pinned it into a fashionably tall pouf with trailing curls down the back. She lifted one foot and then the other for Sally to roll on her yellow silk stockings with the red embroidered clocks at the ankles, tie her red silk ribbon garters, and slip on her heeled shoes with buckles of glittering paste stones. Then she stood with her back to the looking glass to have her shift adjusted, her stays laced, and her red silk gown slipped over her shoulders and pinned into place.

For the first time in her life, everything was new, and while all the newness was exciting in itself, it was also a bit disorienting as well. The new linen and silk sat differently against her skin, slightly apart and crisp, unlike her old familiar linen petticoats and shifts that were so worn and soft that they'd become almost a part of her. The pins that held her hair in place jabbed against her scalp, and the unfamiliar weight of her hair piled high made her hold her head up straighter. The hoops tied around her waist held her petticoats away from her hips, giving her the sensation that they were floating away, and she with them.

Unconsciously she touched her mother's cameo for comfort and reassurance. Not everything was new; not everything could be bought and replaced. She hadn't lost herself, not at all—it would take more than new clothes to do that. Hadn't Rivers told her exactly the same thing in the carriage?

“There, ma'am, you're finished,” Sally said, clearly taking no pleasure in what she'd done. “Turn about and see yourself in the glass.”

Lucia was almost afraid of what she'd see. She'd never been one to spend time admiring herself in the glass, not possessing that kind of vanity. She knew perfectly well what she looked like, and there had never been that much to admire. The looking glass in this dressing room was large, nearly pier-sized, and would show her from head to toe. There'd be no hiding. Slowly, very slowly, she turned, and forced herself to look.

And gasped.

The reflection before her was unlike any that had ever stared back at her. The
robe à la Polonaise
was every bit as beautiful as she'd expected, the scarlet silk shimmering and catching the candlelight like an ever-changing jewel. It didn't need gold thread or spangles: the color, the rich fabric, and the exquisite style were what would make it impossible to ignore in any gathering. The bodice was cut low over her breasts and sleekly fitted to her body, with narrow sleeves, lavish flounces at the elbows, and petticoats looped into extravagant poufs on either side, which served to make her waist look even smaller. This was the kind of gown that most women would only dream of owning, and she could scarcely believe it was now hers.

But the gown alone wasn't what had made Lucia gasp. It was how she herself looked that did that. She
glowed.
Her hair, her skin, her eyes: there was a vibrancy that she couldn't recall having seen in herself for a long while, if at all. It was as if she'd a candle lit inside of her.

“You're not the same as when you came here, are you?” Sally observed, shrewdly watching Lucia's reaction. “Even the lowest stray from the streets would improve with Mrs. Barber's cooking.”

True, her cheeks were more plump and the ribs that she'd once been able to feel through her skin had disappeared, but she knew the change wasn't entirely due to Mrs. Barber's cooking. Rivers could make much more of the claim. His lessons and her time here with him at the Lodge had worn away the dull, self-effacing mask of unhappiness and frustration that she'd unconsciously assumed while in the playhouse. The self-confidence and accomplishment that she'd discovered thanks to him showed in her face and even how she stood, for gone were the hunched, defensive shoulders and the tightly clasped hands. She was happy, happier than she'd ever been, and it showed.

And, though she didn't wish to admit it, she was also more than a little in love with him.

The thought alone made her blush, her cheeks a guilty red that nearly matched her gown. She'd heard the gossip from the other women in the tiring room, and she knew in great detail what men expected once they'd gotten beneath a woman's petticoats. To some, it had sounded like a tedious chore to be endured for the sake of a reward afterward, but to others it was a magical, earth-shattering experience with the right man.

Lucia was certain that lovemaking with Rivers would be magic. Certainly kissing him was, and that was only the beginning. But no matter whether or not she ended this night in his bed, she must remember that he could never be hers, not entirely. She could have his friendship and his kindness as well as a hundred other little things that they'd shared and laughed over together, and if she dared, she might claim his passion, too, but she'd never have his heart, not to keep.

Perhaps that was what she thought most as she studied her reflection. Dressed like this, she could now have held her own among the other Di Rossi women, and been every bit as attractive, even seductive, as Magdalena. But because of Rivers, she was different from her cousin and the others, and always would be.

Because of him, she was
better.
Most likely he believed he'd only improved her as an actress, but in the process he'd also helped her become a more thoughtful, more polished, and more honorable woman that any other Di Rossi had ever been. He'd never know how much he'd done for her, just as she knew she'd never be able to repay him. Whatever happened tonight they could share a memory that would become endlessly special to her no matter what happened a week, a month, a year from now.

“See now, there's a smile,” Sally said, not bothering to hide her contempt. “High time you did, too. When you first came here with his lordship, none of us could figure what he'd seen in you. Now there's no doubt to it. I suppose his lordship knew it from the beginning. Looking as you do now, ma'am, there's no doubt at all.”

“I must join his lordship now,” Lucia said hurriedly, glancing away from the looking glass to the little porcelain clock on the mantelpiece. It was already eight, long past their customary time for dining, and although Rivers had told her to take as long as she required to dress, she knew how much he hated to be kept waiting. “Has he gone downstairs yet?”

Sally shrugged and stepped back, leaving a clear path for Lucia to the door. “I do not know, ma'am.”

“Then I shall go discover for myself.” Lucia ran her palm along the front of her bodice, smoothing silk that did not need smoothing, then turned away from her reflection and toward the doorway and the staircase beyond. Everything was in play now; everything would happen as fate would have it.

Yet still she took the time to pause before Sally, placing her hand on the other woman's upper arm.

“I thank you, Sally,” she said. “I know that you have done this for me from an order, not an inclination, but still I am most grateful for the care you have taken with my dress tonight.”

Sally flushed. She looked down, avoiding Lucia's gaze, and bobbed a quick, noncommittal curtsey.

Given any encouragement, Lucia would have said more, but she recognized a purposeful slight when she saw one, and she knew, too, the best way to respond was to ignore it. The Lodge's female servants had disliked her from the first day she'd arrived, and nothing she'd done had changed their minds. Perhaps they'd resented how their master had favored her, a low, common woman from London who they all looked down upon; or perhaps it was simply because they knew she'd be gone from their lives in another week, they figured she wasn't worth their trouble.

Yet still their scorn stung because it was unfamiliar. Lucia had always been so invisible that no one else had bothered to be jealous or envious of her. Still, if she was going to make her way in the London theater she'd have to weather much worse than this, and with as pleasant a smile as she could muster, she turned away from Sally and walked through the doorway.

It was all one more lesson to learn, she told herself fiercely. One more reason to be strong so that she might succeed.

As much as she longed to join Rivers, she didn't run, but walked deliberately with the grace that he had urged her to find in herself. The silk petticoats rustled around her legs with each step, as if whispering more encouragement, and by the time she reached the parlor, her smile was genuine with eagerness to join him again, and her heart was racing with anticipation.

For once a footman—Tom, her first acquaintance amongst the staff—was stationed beside the parlor door in full livery, ready to bow and open it as soon as she approached. That made her smile, too, for life at the Lodge wasn't generally so formal. Having Tom there was much like having Sally dress her, both servants signifying the special importance that Rivers had placed upon this evening. As Tom held the door open for her she took one final deep breath to calm herself, and swept into the room with her head high, making the entrance that Rivers—and her new gown—deserved.

But instead of the blaze of candles and the impeccably set table that she'd expected, the room was nearly dark except for the moonlight. There were only two candles lit on the mantel, and the table where they usually ate was not only not set, but at rest against the wall with the leaves folded down.