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Amelia shrugged, still keeping her eyes downcast. “Well, no, not here at least.” Which meant she might have hopes for someone up north. “I suppose my father and brother will have a say in my choice.” She met Hester’s eyes then. “They’re aiming for a baronet or higher.” She disclosed.
As wealthy as her family was, she’d attract impoverished nobility, the usual entryway for bourgeoise families into the impervious circles of the ton.
After a few minutes of introspection, her friend smiled. “Enough of me. Now tell me about the new plays I’ll be sure to attend.”
Their meal arrived and Hester told her of the new play and how they’d been working hard on it. Luncheon time flew, and she nearly became late to return to the theatre.
Hastily, Hester gained the theatre’s back entrance leading to the hallway where her father’s and brother’s offices were.
“Where the hell have you been?” Drake’s harsh voice boomed in the dim light.
Her eyes adjusted to see Oliver, Eli, and the marquess standing in the middle of the hallway looking at her with a frown.
She gazed
quizzically at them. “I had luncheon with Miss Bolton,” she replied, trying to make sense of the commotion. As hurriedly as she left, she’d forgotten to leave word of her whereabouts.
“Lord Worcester told us about the Duke of Haddington,” Eli explained.
Oh, fantastic! She jeered internally. Now her father would be worried sick over it.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Oliver asked in a strained voice.
“I didn’t want to worry you.” And directed an accusing glare at the blasted man, to have him merely hitch a brow. “The duke will find another intrigue to amuse him soon enough.” She derided.
“Even so, we should look out for you.” Eli reasoned.
"I searched for you everywhere." Hands fisted on his tapered waist, legs braced, Drake was the very picture of the adamant nobleman.
As their eyes clashed, there was no avoiding sharing the memories of their night together, and the ripple of awareness that took her body by storm. A scalding blush smothered her cheeks.
“I had my eyes right on her, my lord,” Bruce contributed as he entered the hallway.
“Good job, Bruce.” Drake rewarded the footman with an approving nod.
“After all this drama, can we go back to work?” Hester suggested vexed with Drake for alarming everyone.
“Promise us you’ll be careful,” Oliver insisted.
“Of course, papa.” And gave a light grin as she moved in the direction of the stage.
When the rehearsal ended, the actors dispersed, and Drake went looking for Hester. Again, that day.
During luncheon, he'd gone to find her and talk about one scene in the play. Having not found her had made his guts plummet, a cold sweat breaking on his skin. The tension in him as he approached her father and brother had made them ask what had been afoot, and Drake had no choice but tell the truth. The surprised expressions on them told Drake she'd not alarmed them. But it'd been too late to undo it.
The depth of his concern was something he’d not felt before. Even if Bruce was tasked with shadowing her, he always wanted to have her in sight. Only then would he be sure she’d be safe. With her absence, the dread that nearly dominated him had him reeling. The slight notion of anything happening to her caused fury to unleash inside. At the perpetrator, and at himself if perchance he failed in protecting her.
He found her in the storage room where the company kept the costumes from past plays. Her arms stretched as she held a dress by its shoulders and appeared to be examining it.
The sound of his boots must have alerted her because she turned her head to him. “I’m checking if we have the necessary costumes,” she said as he came in. “Mama used to make them, but now we may need a seamstress.”
“I expect the investment has been enough for that.” Drake didn’t boast about it, just stated a fact.
“More than enough, I should say.” And put the dress on her front as if calculating if it fit.
In slow steps, he neared her. “I didn’t mean to distress your father,” he started as he halted about three feet from her.
The rows of clothing gave their voices an intimate timber and cocooned them in the room. He raked her petite form clad in a practical dress, a tight bun on her beautiful hair. Their night together hadn't sated him. Not exactly. If anything, it made him starve for more. Another unprecedented fact in his life. Before her, he usually tired of the women sharing his bed quite quickly. One year with her, and he couldn't get enough. When he took her as a mistress, he'd promised himself he'd let it run its course and then do his mother's bidding. Honora wasn't precisely wrong in insisting on seeing the next generation before her time came. Drake knew his duty and planned to get down to it after he'd been done with Hester. He'd not counted on the factor he might not be done any time soon, if ever. The alternative of keeping her on the side as he accepted the parson’s noose and produced an heir did cross his mind. And he couldn’t even say he felt ashamed about it. How many lords did that same thing since the Middle Ages? But the little rebel busted the notion with a decisive strike of her tart tongue, uncovering a fierce woman beneath the meek mistress she’d been. And he only craved more of this new facet of her. No, not more, everything. Every single fibre of the purposeful and intelligent woman before him, together with the nights she’d made even more scorching.
