Page 31 of The Gentleman’s Leading Lady

“You fixed on him rather suddenly.”

“I believe he can do it, quickly, and he can create something beautiful.”

“But can we afford him?” Dorsey watched as Lady Baeccon went so far as to lay her hand on Manelli’s forearm to get his attention. From there, she slid her gloved hand along his elbow to his upper hand, deliberately provocative, intimate.

Because she wanted him to stop watching Cerys, and she wanted Cerys to see her touching him.

It was almost disappointing, how obvious her ladyship was. Cerys would have liked to have a somewhat more worthy opponent.

But she had that in Dante Manelli, who was not going to be manipulated by anyone, if he could help it. He was an intelligent man. He had learned from his first lesson in having Lady Baeccon destroy his heart.

Dorsey cocked his head to the side, still watching Cerys with a look more shrewd than she was accustomed to seeing from him. “Moreover,” he said slowly, as if, quite out of character, he were considering his words, “your Manelli seems a gent looking to elevate himself. Don’t see as how he’d condescend to work with the likes of us.”

Itinerant actors, little more than beggars and thieves, in the perception of many. Cerys wrapped her shawl about her shoulders.

“Leave Mr. Manelli to me,” she said with a confidence she didn’t feel.

Lady Baeccon spoke in his ear, using the ancient ploy of keeping her voice pitched low enough that Dante had to lean his head close. The action would let her scent waft to his nose and put her breasts directly in his line of sight. Cerys shook her head with a small smile.

Such tactics might have worked before, like a bludgeon over the head, but Lady Baeccon had made the mistake of wounding her prey in a manner he wouldn’t soon forget. It would take more subtle tactics to lure the man now. Did her ladyship know them?

Cerys, meantime, had a ploy of her own. She would offer Mr. Manelli a bargain he could not refuse.

CHAPTER NINE

She was reflecting on ways to catch him alone when he found her first.

She was walking up the stair to the women’s wing, Dot at her side nattering about the pudding that had been served for dessert. Dot was overly fond of pudding.

Mame and Dorsey had settled into a game of cards that was like to last long into the night, and Dutton had expressed interested in joining them. The Baeccons had departed, with a link boy to run ahead and light their way back to their lodgings at the Great House. Cerys couldn’t imagine the extravagance of taking a carriage to cover a mile. Gwen might do it now, but then Gwen was a viscountess, wasn’t she, and toting lordlings and small ladies about.

Andover had escorted Cousin Diana to bed, then wandered off to other entertainments, and Mr. Manelli had taken his leave when the Baeccons departed. Cerys was considering whether she would be able to locate the door to his bedchamber, then tap on it without being observed, when she found the man himself, lounging in an alcove at the turn of the stair.

The half-moon gleamed through the window above and poured a shaft of quicksilver light over his head, spotlighting him as if he were on a stage. A quiet intensity practically shimmered off him, or perhaps that was the thrill she felt at his nearness. He stood leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a gesture that outlined the ridiculous breadth of his chest and immense arms. The man was built like a blacksmith, not an architect.

Dot faked a huge yawn. “Goodness, I’m run off my feet. G’night, Cerys. I’m off to bed.” She nodded at the gentleman. “Mr. Manelli.”

“I bid you good evening,” he said, not looking at Dot as she sauntered up the stairs. His eyes fixed on Cerys, or at least, she supposed they were. The moon cast his face into silvery shadow, highlighting the curve of one ear, the lock of unruly hair falling over his temple. The light fell like a caress over the austere cut of his cheekbone, the arrogant slope of his cheek to the stubborn jaw.

The corner of his lips looked very soft.

Cerys stepped forward, the carpet plush against her slippers. Her shawl whispered down her arm as she lifted a hand. With a yank she relieved his cravat of its tidy knot. The linen was warm and soft beneath her fingers, infused with the heat of his body.

“There. That’s better.”

“Did you enjoy yourself this evening?” His voice was a low scrape in the darkness, like a pumice stone dragged across her skin, waking her nerves to full awareness. His arms remained folded, but he quivered ever so slightly, as if her touch sent a shudder through him.

“Supremely. You?” She found herself on the balls of her feet, ready to run at the first sign of a threat.

Or lean towards him.

“What the devil are you about with Lady Baeccon?”

She moved so the light from the window fell on her as well, and he had to turn to confront her. That was better, only one side of his face in shadow. The other— She was right. That dark brown eye glared fiercely at her, a gleam beneath his sharp brow. He was one of those men who could shave in the morning and grow a shadow along his jaw by dinner time. She wondered if the stubble would be prickly against her palm.

“What a strong-minded creature her ladyship is.” Cerys kept her voice low. They were in plain sight of anyone coming up or down the stairs, hardly a tryst, and yet this moment would be illicit for a well-bred girl.

How fortunate Cerys was nothing of the sort.