Love Plays a Part (27 page)

“My mother used to work for a lady,” she said quickly. “She taught me a lot of things.”

“So it seems,” observed the earl dryly. “So it seems.”

The ride to Samantha’s house was a short one, and some few minutes later the carriage stopped. His lordship was instantly out the door, offering her his hand. “The hour is late,” he said gravely. “Therefore I hope you will not object to being escorted to the door.”

Samantha did not protest. A light in the upstairs window had revealed to her the figure of a waiting Hester. She knew her servant would soon be there to let her in.

The earl stopped before the door. “I much enjoyed your company this evening,” he said in that same sober tone. “I am sorry that Byron’s boorishness caused you pain. I intend to speak to him about it.” He smiled slightly and gently squeezed her arm before he released it. “I will attempt no liberty upon your person,” he said softly, his eyes caressing her. “And I will only remind you that, if you were to accept my offer, we should be able to do this sort of thing quite often.”

The door opened on his last word, and Hester stood there waiting. Samantha swallowed her reply and contented herself with a brief nod. Then he bent low over her gloved hand and was gone, moving with that lithe grace that seemed suddenly to tear at her heartstrings. Swallowing over her tears, Samantha turned and made her way up the stairs to bed, a bed that by morning would show the effects of a very restless night.

Chapter 15

The next morning found Samantha more than a little irritable. It was not that the late hours bothered her; certainly she was used to them by now. But this restless tossing about gave a person little relaxation. The worst of it was that her tossing and turning accomplished no end. Struggle with her problem as she might, she could find no solution. She did not want to leave her position at the theatre or her lodgings, both of which would be necessary if she really meant to avoid his lordship’s importunities. The rub was, though, that uncomfortable as his rakish words made her, she did not want to lose his companionship. The truth of the matter, now unavoidably clear to her, was that her partiality for his lordship had increased until the future without him in it seemed an eternity of unbearable dullness.

She was well aware that such an attitude could only add to her suffering. To keep Roxbury at her side must eventually mean the abandonment of her principles. And this she did not see that she could do.

She washed, dressed in one of her drabbest gowns, and twisted her hair into a tight knot at the back of her head. Kean was not appearing in tonight’s play, a piece called
The Devil’s Bridge.
He would most likely find it beneath his notice, she thought as she made her way to breakfast.

So silent was she on their way to the theatre that Jake glanced at her suspiciously several times, but Samantha, deep in her problems, did not even notice.

The day passed with monotonous slowness, and for the first time Samantha wished to be elsewhere. Of course, she told herself, she was being foolish to feel this way. But she could not seem to feel differently. The supper Jake brought was eaten in the same automatic fashion, and when she went backstage to take her accustomed place, several people gave her second glances. Even this she did not notice, so lost was she in her own thoughts.

The play had only just begun when she was approached by one of the other seamstresses. “Maria says for you to leave,” the young woman said. “You don’t look good.”

“I can’t go home till the play’s over,” Samantha replied.

“Then go back to the work room and wait. You look sick.”

Samantha nodded. “All right. Thank you. I’m not feeling very well.” She rose unsteadily and made her way back down the long, dim corridor. She was not ill; she knew that. It was just that she couldn’t seem to muster any energy or enthusiasm. She was haunted by visions of herself in coral silk, gracing his lordship’s arm, sitting beside him in his box, and - her pale cheeks flushed at the thought - having him draw her into his arms and hold her.

Quietly she opened the door to the work room. At least now that Lily was gone she need not worry about her possessions. But things like cloaks didn’t seem to matter anyway, she thought as she sank heavily into a chair. Her mind, it seemed, could think of nothing but the earl and her longing to see him. What if she were to do as he asked? To become his - his - Her mind refused to say the word.

Suddenly Samantha leaped to her feet. She must shake off this terrible lethargy. The earl was only a man and, aside from his good looks, not all that exceptional a one. There would be other men in her life. She could move about in the
ton
if she found that she wanted a husband that badly. She would not let any man, and most particularly not the earl, lead her down the path of dishonor. She would never, never consent to such a thing.

Right this minute she would stop this stupid moping in the dark and get herself back to the wings. Even if
The Devil’s Bridge
was not the equal of Shakespeare’s work, she could certainly find
something
of interest in it. She would go this minute and do so.

Without wasting another second she stepped out into the hall. She was no schoolroom miss, she told herself crisply, to be so smitten by Cupid’s arrow as to lose all sense of herself as a person. What the earl asked of her was degrading and demeaning. She would never consent to it.

She quickened her step as she rounded a corner, and then she was brought up abruptly against a white marcella waistcoat. This time she did not fall to the floor, for two strong arms reached out to clasp her close. Even without seeing his face Samantha knew that it was Roxbury who held her. The rush of joy she felt was so intense that it brought tears to her eyes. For a long moment he held her close, and Samantha, unable to protest or move away, listened to the heavy beating of his heart under her ear and surrendered herself to her feelings.

Finally he held her away and looked down with worried eyes. “Samantha, are you ill? They told me you had come back to lie down.”

“I’m fine,” she said, and certainly that was not a lie, not now at least. “I - I had a touch of the headache, but it’s gone now.”

Still he did not move but continued to gaze down at her. His eyes seemed to be searching hers, seeking for something. The conviction was strong in her that she should avert her eyes, but somehow she could not do so. She wanted to lose herself in those dark depths, feel the full extent of the passion she saw waiting there. Then his hands drew her closer and his lips descended on hers. Even as their lips touched, she sighed in pleasure. She had wanted this kiss, wanted it with every fiber of her being. Without further thought she surrendered herself to it. As his mouth moved on hers, her senses went spinning off into ecstasy, her knees began to quiver, and her bones felt as though they were melting. The only thought she had was the half-formed wish that this intense joy might last forever. She abandoned herself entirely to her feelings, her mouth softening and opening under his, her body shaping itself to fit against him.

When finally he released her, the earl smiled triumphantly. “Samantha! I knew I could reach you! Oh, it will be glorious. You’ll see. We’ll go immediately tomorrow to Bond Street and order some new gowns. And then to the jewelers. But tonight -”

He began to pull her back into his arms. It was then that sanity returned to a dazed Samantha. Dear God, what had she done? “No, no,” she cried, hysteria near to overtaking her as she fought the wild urge to fling herself back into his arms. “I can’t.”

She tore herself from his grasp and in doing so left a part of her sleeve in his hand. Panting, Samantha leaned against the wall, her legs too weak to carry her farther.

The earl frowned darkly. “Samantha, you are being foolish. Don’t fight your feelings.”

“No, I can’t,” she repeated wildly. “Don’t ask me.”

He took a step toward her. “Samantha.”

A door opened nearby, and a disheveled Kean stuck his head out of his dressing room. “What’s going on here?” he demanded truculently.

“This is a private matter,” the earl said softly, not taking his eyes from Samantha’s face.

Kean looked at her. “Samantha, what’s going on here?”

She shook her head. Speech seemed to have deserted her and she could only shake her head and give herself up to the sobs that possessed her.

“Now, see here,” said Kean, stepping out into the hall.

Ignoring the actor, the earl took another step toward Samantha. “Samantha, you are behaving foolishly. Now stop it. You know I have done nothing to hurt you.”

Still she could not answer, and Kean, moving closer, spied the piece of dress material in Roxbury’s hand. “Here now,” he said, “that’s doing it up a bit brown.”

The earl turned and frowned. “As I said before, this is a private affair.” His look would have quelled any sane man, but Kean shook his head belligerently, and Samantha’s dazed mind noted the fact that he had been drinking.

“Anything   that   concerns   Samantha concerns me.
We’re friends.”

Evidently the earl too had become aware of the actor’s condition, for he tempered his look as he replied, “Samantha and I are having a private conversation. I am trying to discover what upset her.”

“What about that piece of her dress in your hand?” the actor demanded.

“She was upset before this accident.” The earl shrugged coolly. “The gown is old, and when she jerked away from me, it tore. You need have no fear on that score,” he continued. “I would not hurt Samantha for all the world.”

Kean nodded sagely. “There’s ways and ways of hurting a woman,” he said. “I’ve seen you backstage with Samantha, playing up to her. It’s plain you want something from her. Ah, yes.” He rolled his eyes suggestively. “It’s plain as day you’ve got dishonorable intentions in regard to this young woman.”

By now Samantha had conquered her tears and was watching the scene with frightened eyes. The earl could be dangerous when crossed but now, to her relief, he seemed determined to humor the bosky actor.

Roxbury smiled dryly and shrugged his well-clad shoulders. “Of course I do. What other kind
should
I have?”

Kean considered this for some moments. “There are other kinds,” he said firmly. Behind the earl’s back Samantha shook her head at Kean. He mustn’t tell Roxbury the truth. He simply mustn’t. She gestured frantically, but Kean went right on. “You should treat Samantha with more respect,” he continued.

The earl was regarding him closely. “What do you mean, more respect?”

“I mean just what I say.” In spite of all Samantha’s headshakes and frantic entreaties, Kean went on. “Samantha’s not just any young woman. She’s got good blood.” Samantha saw the earl’s back stiffen at this piece of news. “She could be moving about in the
ton
if she liked.”

Samantha felt her knees go weak again. It was only by the greatest effort that she remained on her feet. Slowly Roxbury turned to face her. His dark eyes regarded her critically for some moments. Finally he spoke. “Samantha, is this man telling me the truth?”

She wanted to deny it, to shake her head and hold on to her old life, but before the power of those dark eyes she was helpless. “Yes, milord,” she whispered. “He is.”

“Then why have you been masquerading as a poor girl from the country?” he asked curtly.

“My father was ill - for nine years.” Samantha stumbled through the story. “To pass the time I read to him. The plays of Shakespeare and some others.” She paused for breath, and Roxbury nodded, his eyes, dark and burning, fastened on her face. Samantha hastened on. “When he died, I decided to come to the city to see the plays we’d been reading. I took the job here because it allowed me to be backstage, to become a part of the theatre.”

“And to make a fool of me,” he said crisply, those dark brows gathered in a fierce frown. “Was it because of what I said at the inn?”

“No! No! I didn’t know you frequented the theatre. I was afraid if you found out my real status I’d lose my position here. And with it my dream of being part of the theatre.” She stood quivering beneath the glare of his eyes.

“I see. So I have been treating a lady as if she were -” He paused as though searching for a word.

“A common trollop?” suggested Kean with drunken helpfulness.

Samantha winced, and the earl’s mouth tightened grimly. “As though she were something else,” he continued, ignoring the actor. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “This, then, is the reason for the highly vaunted principles. I suppose I should have suspected something,” he said, almost to himself. “There were too many incongruities.” He paused and drew himself formally erect. “I find, Miss Everett, that I have acted very boorishly. I humbly apologize and I assure you that in the future I shall treat you with the proper respect.”

Samantha did not quite know how to receive this. She was concerned over his earlier accusation. “I did not set out to deceive you,” she said, her heart beating wildly. “I am truly sorry that I did.”

The earl bowed gracefully, but his eyes did not lose their cold, hard glitter. “I will accept your apology, Miss Everett,” he said, still in that stiff, formal tone, “if you will accept mine.”

“Of course,” replied Samantha, hardly knowing what she said. This new aspect of the earl seemed quite strange to her. It was almost as though they had never known each other at all, as though he were speaking to a complete stranger, and one he did not even like!

Looking down, Roxbury perceived the piece of dress lying by his feet. “Order a new gown,” he said, kicking it aside. “And have your solicitor send mine the bill.” He bowed once more and strode away.

Samantha leaned trembling against the wall. She could not believe that this formal creature was the same man who had kissed her with such impassioned fervor only minutes before.

Kean, who had been watching with great interest, came slowly toward her. “There now,” he said with obvious satisfaction. “I guess he won’t be bothering you again. I guess I told him a thing or two.”

Samantha nodded. She was too tired and Kean was too bosky to carry this business any further. Besides, what good would it do to scold him now for revealing her secret? The damage was done; Roxbury knew the truth.