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And in this blasted man’s mind, by the looks of it. Because her taunt must have hit its mark as his irises darkened, and she had the impression he’d come even closer to her. The way he dwarfed her always acted like a kind of salacious aphrodisiac with everything in her becoming blurry, and receptive, and avid. He did this to her even before they met, just by standing tall in his box and staring at her as though there was no one else in the theatre.
“You seemed not to mind.” He rasped in that deep tenor that invariably took her to new heights.
Mind? Her mind had nothing to do with it! She had merely to set eyes on him for the need to take over and direct her actions and her body. She could take it as a measure of how much it had absorbed her in him. And the amount of space he occupied in her thoughts, her life.
But he’d just been a powerful man full of that misconception about actresses. The wake-up alarm kicked in and turned her to ice, giving her the chance to pull her lips in a scornful half-grin. “Did you?” With which she turned the tables on him. His rugged features washed with ruddy colour at the same time his nostrils flared with an intake of air.
Quickly, though, he recovered and breathed a laugh full of hidden meaning. “You brought me to my knees if memory serves.”
At that, a lightning of a full-blown arousal took her by storm. Her core heated and melted, and yearned. And they weren’t even touching, for pity’s sake!
Their glares locked and plunged in that kind of underlying communication that required no words and no lies. Bared and raw, they had no way of hiding the true conversation taking place since they began this morning. The tension in their bodies, the eagerness of their gazes, or the gust of awareness clouding the air.
Her acting training came to her rescue though as she arched her brows. “Score set, I’d say.”
“Not as yet.” He rebutted. “You changed the scene and didn’t answer my question.”
About her and Duff, naturally. “If you think life on the stage is a mirror of the backstage, then you know absolutely nothing about me or
my world.” And she gave a step back to put distance between them before she acted on her desires.
“You may be right.” He compromised. “But I do know when another man is drooling over my woman.” Came the gruff remark.
Oh, that got her blind with rage all over again. Granted, she’d been his mistress. He’d owned the house she lived in, the clothes she dressed, her time, her body. But she ended it, put a stop to the vicious cycle of owing him her very self. She had yet to feel as free as she should though. If anything, she appeared to be caught in some invisible bondage where the treads still tied her to him. She kept looking for ways of undoing the knots, but they must have been tied by pirates or seamen because they were too complicated to untangle. But she would, of that there must be no doubt.
“You’d do well to recall I ditched the mistress arrangement.” She insisted, nonetheless. “I’m not yours and will never be.” ‘Again’, she completed in her mind.
He shrugged as though he cared not a whit. “If you say so,” but his tone dripped with that arrogance of someone who knew differently.
She decided it better to pass on answering it. Too many denials and all that. Instead, she opted to resume their purpose here. "Shall we go back to work?"
His features sobered as he nodded curtly. “I’d like you to go over the play and note down its inconsistencies. I’ll contact the author about them.”
Her eyes flew to him unable to hide her bafflement. Bottom-line, what he asked was for her to add the women’s voices to the text. Her jaw fairly fell as her gaze widened on him. “I’ll do that,” she answered before she collected her jaw and left the stage.
“It’s positively surprising that the weather helped matters, my lord.” Lady Millicent at his side on the curricle he drove commented as a means to break the silence, he reckoned.
That afternoon, he left the theatre torn between staying and being flayed alive by the impossible woman or putting as much distance between her and his uncivilised impulses. He’d chosen the latter before he gave in and proved to be the entitled aristocrat Hester believed of him. And entered home to a note from the debutante asking him if he wouldn’t be amenable to a ride in Hyde Park for their ruse’s sake. In need of fresh air and a distraction from this morning’s charged rehearsal, Drake accepted. Both sat in his vehicle while her lady’s maid walked by it as the seat accommodated only two.
“I agree after this morning’s drizzle,” he answered distractedly while he found purchase amid the crowd in this fashionable hour.
The lady dressed impeccably in the latest fashion and sat poised by his side. In the last half-hour, they talked amenities as the aim was to see and be seen in public.
While they shifted subjects, Drake sighted Miss Amelia Bolton walking arm in arm with the Countess of Thornton. Miss Bolton was an astronomer together with her brother Sir Joseph and had given a lecture on comets in one of his and Hester’s soirees. He tipped his hat to both women as the barouche passed them. Last he heard, Miss Bolton and her brother had travelled to their Northumberland home where their family owned coal mines.
“I’d like to ask your leave for a question of a somewhat personal nature if I may, Lady Millicent.” Worcester started after a moment of silence.
She shrugged with that weariness so part of her. “I suppose it’s all right. There are no secrets in London.”
Yes, the gossipmongers made sure of that. He wondered how much of it affected her as she wasn't guilty of her father's unfathomable sins.
“Is your home safe for you?” he asked in a low voice so her maid wouldn’t listen. Many lords paid servants to spy on their family members.
“For me yes.” Her voice came softly too. “Though it’s been difficult since my mother died.” Something sombre clouded her expression.
“When did she die?” he preferred not to become too personal with her, but she volunteered the information.
“Two years ago.” She’d gone completely expressionless as she said that. Too young to carry this burden, the courageous waif.
