A Reckless Desire (32 page)

Because she
did
love him, and likely always would. Nothing Magdalena or anyone else said could change that. Yet she needed to ask him about McGraw, no matter how difficult it would be to find the words. She had to
know.

“What is that in your hand?” he asked curiously as she climbed the steps to join him.

She stopped one step below him, the difference in their heights exaggerated all the more. She looked down into her hand, realizing she'd forgotten she held the mangled rose, half the petals torn away and the yellow stamen crushed in the center.

“It's a rose,” she said softly, opening her fingers so he could see.

“Or what's left of one,” he said. “My God, what happened to it?”

“Magdalena.” She sighed ruefully, thinking how her cousin had scorned her for being too sentimental. “She was tearing it apart, and I couldn't bear to see her do so, because it's one of your mother's flowers. So I took it from her.”

“How very like Magdalena,” he said. “And how very like you as well.”

Even earlier today, she would have accepted that as a compliment. After what Magdalena had said, however, she wasn't as sure, and all she did was smile uncertainly.

He didn't give her any clues, either, just held his hand out to her. “Come, let's see them off before she finds something else to destroy.”

She closed the parasol and took his offered hand, and together they joined the others in the front hall. The farewells were brief and a little strained, yet for Lucia the discomfort did not end when Sir Edward's carriage drew away from the house.

“Clearly I've forgotten how Magdalena can be,” Rivers said, watching the carriage. “When I see you side by side with her, I can scarcely believe you're cousins.”

Neither could Lucia, especially not when she recalled how fashionably her cousin had been dressed. Perhaps she
had
become a slattern, as Magdalena had accused her of being, and self-consciously she smoothed the silk over her breast and tightened the sash around her waist.

“But then, some might wonder why I am friends with Everett,” Rivers continued as they walked back inside the house, back to the library where they'd been earlier, back to the same sofa as if nothing had changed, when everything had. “He really can be quite an ass.”

“You are not much alike that I can see,” Lucia said carefully, believing that was safe enough. There was nothing controversial there, for it was true, too. She'd never understood how the two men could be friends, thoughtful Rivers with boorish, bullying Sir Edward.

“No, we are not,” Rivers agreed, dropping back down onto the sofa. “But he was the very first boy who befriended me at school, and we've remained friends ever since. We've always made foolish wagers, too, over everything and nothing, and this one's no different. Do you know he remains convinced that you will falter during the benefit, and he will win?”

“Truly?” It was all she could think to say. She didn't sit with him, but remained standing, her arms folded and her hands tucked inside the full sleeves of her sultana. “Sir Edward did not seem convinced of that earlier.”

“He is now,” Rivers said, smiling as he remembered. He patted the cushion beside him as a hint for her to join him on the sofa. “While you were walking with your cousin, I made sure of it by dropping a few choice words and hints to let him think he still has a chance to win. None of it was true, of course, but the last thing I wish is for him to withdraw from the wager altogether, and end the sport before it has begun.”

None of this felt like sport to her, and she remained standing, her back stiff and her hands hidden in her sleeves. “What did you tell him?”

“Only enough for him to forget whatever nonsense McGraw has begun braying about the town,” he said blithely. “Everett is easily distracted, you know. He certainly was by your pretty face. But then, so am I.”

She turned away and went to stand at the garden window, ostensibly gazing at the flowers. She didn't want to hear about having a pretty face, not now. She wanted to know that she'd talent enough to earn an honest role on the London stage, and not have it bought for her like a sugary, iced sweet at the confectionery. It was inevitable that she'd lose Rivers, but she'd consoled herself by knowing she'd be able to support herself on the stage. Without that, she'd be left with nothing, absolutely nothing.

Unaware of her thoughts, Rivers came to stand behind her at the window. He slipped his arm around her waist to pull her close, and she couldn't keep from tensing.

“You'll prove to him and the rest how fine an actress you've become,” he said softly, sweeping aside her hair to whisper in her ear. “No, how fine an actress you've always been. You'll show them your mettle, sweetheart, and let them see your magic.”

“You're very certain,” she said, her voice sounding brittle. The heat of his chest against her back, the warmth of his breath on her ear only served to muddle her more. “How do you know I won't turn mute with stage fright, and forget my lines before an audience, exactly as Sir Edward predicts?”

“Where has this worry come from, eh?” he asked. “What of not looking too far into the future?”

She didn't answer that, because she had no answer. She closed her eyes, trying to lose herself in the rightness of him behind her.

“I cannot help it,” she said. “I think of all the other actresses who've come to London, and how most have failed. Why should I be different?”

“Because they're not you, Lucia,” he said, feathering a kiss along the side of her throat. “That's the reason.”

She longed to believe him, yet her doubts remained. What would she do if he admitted he'd paid McGraw? What would she do if he didn't?

“I'm not sure that's reason enough,” she said. “All those other actresses thought the same of themselves.”

“But without your merit, Lucia,” he said. He'd shifted his hand over her breast, gently cupping it in his palm and teasing her nipple through the silk with his thumb. “Once the world sees you in
Hamlet,
I guarantee you'll be the toast of the town.

“Soft you now! The fair Ophelia!

Nymph, in thy orisons

Be all my sins remember'd.”

She closed her eyes, the pleasure of his caress turned bittersweet by his words. If he hadn't quoted from the play again, she might have been able to put aside her doubts and give herself over to his lovemaking.

But having him fall back into quoting the play made that impossible. Only Rivers could transform a random line from
Hamlet
into something that was both intensely personal and seductive. What had started out as a lesson had become a kind of game between them, like a secret lovers' language, flirtatious banter that they'd made their own.

It had made her feel clever and witty, but also made her realize how special Rivers had become to her. She thought of the first time they'd worked together on that particular scene, of how patient he'd been with her, of how he'd explained that “orisons” was simply an old-fashioned word for prayers, and how they'd laughed together over the funny sound of it. He'd treated her with respect and regard, and in these last short weeks, she'd come to love and trust him as she'd never done anyone else. He was her lover, but he was also her friend, and the thought that she might soon be neither to him was unbearable.

“I…I must go,” she said, pushing away from him.

“Go?” he repeated, surprised. “Where are you going?”

“To my room,” she said, already at the doorway. “I…I need to begin packing my things for London.”

“No, you don't,” he said. “That's for Sally to do, not you. Please, Lucia. Come back.”

But she was running up the stairs, her eyes awash with tears. She heard him call her name again, yet still she ran, straight to her bedchamber. The door was open, and the young chambermaid was sweeping out the grate. She curtseyed to Lucia as all the servants had been instructed by Rivers to do, but even that simple gesture of unearned deference seemed like a mockery to Lucia.

“Go, please, at once,” she said, her voice breaking. “Leave me alone.”

The chambermaid scurried to obey, gathering up her brushes and bucket, but before she could close the door, Rivers stormed into the room, slamming the door shut after him.

“What in blazes is wrong with you, Lucia?” he demanded. His blue eyes were flashing, managing to look both angry and wounded at the same time. “Why did you run from me?”

“Nothing is wrong,” she lied, backing away from him until she bumped into the bed, the mahogany rail pressing against her calf. “And I didn't run.”

“Oh, yes, you did,” he said, following her. “Clearly something has upset you, and I don't want you pretending otherwise. You were fine this morning. Was it Magdalena? Did she say something to distress you?”

She looked down, unable to meet his gaze, and realized she was still holding the battered rose. “Is it true that you paid McGraw to tell me I could act?”

“My God, is that what she told you?” He raked his fingers back through his hair, but he didn't answer her question, nor did he deny it; she wasn't surprised, for he was far too honorable to lie, even to save himself.

She raised her eyes to his. Now that she'd begun, she was determined not to back down until she knew everything. “Is it true?”

“What, that I paid McGraw to praise you?” He shook his head, again not in denial, but incredulity. “You would take that woman's word over mine?”

“I would take her word because it's the only one I have,” she said, her own anger beginning to rise. “Until you tell me otherwise, I have no choice but to believe it's the truth.”

His face flushed. “We both know that Magdalena will say whatever the hell she pleases.”

“While you have said nothing,” she shot back. “Tell me otherwise, Rivers. Tell me the truth.”

He didn't answer, his jaw tight.

“The truth,” she repeated. “Just—just tell me.”

He took a deep breath, and let it burst out in an oath.

“Very well, then, I did pay McGraw,” he said, biting off each word. “I've paid him for the use of his theater for a night, for rehearsals and other actors. I've paid for the playbills, and I've paid for the musicians, and yes, I paid for the carriage to bring him here for your audition. Is that enough truth for you?”

She gasped, her fury fueled by disappointment, and by fear, too, for a future that had abruptly lost all its bright possibilities.

“Why did you lie to me, Rivers?” she exclaimed. “Why did you tell me I had talent and a gift, when you didn't trust me enough to win my own praise, but instead had to
buy
it, like one more foolish bonnet I didn't want or need?”

“Because, damnation, Lucia, I love you,” he said, his voice raised and his anger a match for hers. “I did it all for you, and I'd do it again.”

“Love!”
she cried in frustration. “How can you say you love me? How can you claim to do these things for me, for my sake, when you did not tell the truth to me about the one thing that mattered most?”

She hurled the crumpled rose at his chest and spun around, unable to face him. The last thing she wished now was for him to see the anguish and despair that she knew must show on her face.

But he caught her by the arm and yanked her back around, trapping her close against his chest with one arm. With his free hand, he caught her jaw and tipped it up so she was forced to look at him.

“I never lied to you,” he said, his voice rough, more a command than a confession. “Not once. I never flattered you with empty praise. I never told McGraw how to judge you. It was up to you to impress him or not, and you did, exactly as I knew you would.”

“But you
paid
him,” she said, her breath coming so short and fast she was almost panting. “When you paid for the theater and the playbill and God knows what else, you bought his opinion of me, too.”

“I never intended it to be like that, Lucia, I swear to you!”

“Then what was it like?” she demanded. “You didn't trust my talent enough to let it stand on its own, or to let me earn McGraw's praise. You cheated me, Rivers, and I can't see it any other way.”

“But
why
would I do that?” he asked, his voice rough with urgency. “Why would I do that to you, Lucia, when from the beginning I've believed in you, praised you, been in awe of everything that your talent and gifts have driven you to achieve? Why would I undermine all that now?”

She didn't answer, her thoughts so confused that she didn't know what to say. But she
felt
: she was acutely aware of his fingers gripping her jaw and the strength of his grip and his will. She'd never seen him like this before, and it excited her, and frightened her a bit as well. She'd never been so aware of the difference in their size, of the raw strength he usually kept carefully hidden away beneath his scholarly gentility. Her breasts crushed to his chest with only two thin layers of silk between them, and there was no mistaking how aroused he was with the thickness of his cock pressing against her belly.

Beyond their own ragged breathing, she heard a bored dog barking in the distance as well as the house sparrows chattering from beneath the eaves outside her open window, ordinary sounds that somehow served to exaggerate the tension between her and Rivers. She tried to push free, and he jerked her back.

“Listen to me, Lucia,” he said sharply. “I could have done what Magdalena said, and forced McGraw to take you whether you deserved it or not. I could have done just enough to win the wager. I could even have paid McGraw to make certain you failed. But I didn't. I kept my part of our bargain, and gave you the opportunity you wanted.”

She sighed, a deep, shuddering gulp of a sigh that was halfway to a sob as her anger slipped away. She could feel it go, fading beneath the bright truth of his words. She knew he was right. She knew she'd been wrong. But far worse was knowing that she had wronged him, and she didn't know how to begin to apologize.