The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(29)

“I suspect you have a knack for finding some form of enjoyment in most situations,” Griff said, and although the words had a sardonic ring, there was the faintest smile in his eyes.

The corners of her mouth lifted. “Parts of life are shit enough. I look for the light where I can find it. And some of those shows were great. It makes a big difference when you’ve got a good rapport in the cast. I had a blast doing shows like 1553 and Becket Season.”

“And clearly loathed shows like High Voltage.”

Freddy’s smile slipped, and her stomach clenched. There were times when it had been hard to find even a thin beam of light to stand in. “No, High Voltage was not a high point.”

Griff’s eyes narrowed on her face, not missing a trick, as usual.

“Anyway,” she said, determinedly bringing herself back to the present. “It’s crunch time. The Velvet Room audition is next week. If I get that role, it’ll be a year-long commitment. Likewise, if I managed to land a part in Anathorn, the Allegra Hawthorne show. They’re expected to open around the same time. It could come down to an either/or choice, and I know which direction Dad will expect me to take.”

She sat straighter on the stool. “And I know where my heart is pushing me. But it’s not always that easy to go after your own happiness at the expense of someone else’s.” The glumness was starting to drag at her again, and she strove for a lighter note. “And sometimes it rebounds badly. Look at Lydia Bennet. Essentially, she only behaved in a way that dozens of misguided, self-centred teenagers would, and ended up stuck in eternal punishment. Although, in our play, possibly put out of her misery with a poisoned cocktail.”

Which was what she needed to concentrate on in the meantime. Present preoccupations first. With a start, she checked her watch, and then relaxed. It felt like she was existing in a bubble in this room with Griff, in a curious mixed atmosphere of both warm safety and building tension, but Maf would happily produce a sharp pin and reintroduce reality if Freddy were late.

She tipped her head back to stretch out her neck. The ceiling was embedded with more of Sir George’s saucy carvings. “It’s nice to know I can continue my art education here,” she said, with a slight wobble in her voice. “I feel like Highbrook is really going to expand my artistic horizons. I’ve been trying to perk things up by developing some proper outside hobbies. My online dating profile was very sparse and made me feel like a one-note person.”

Griff had started setting up a tripod and looked at her over the ring light he was adjusting. “Online dating?”

“Apps. You could give them a go. You might find some like-minded misanthropes. We all have our interests.”

He photographed a series of small objects—a cigarette case, a medal, a small ceramic statue. When he removed a jewellery case from a locked safe and opened it, she couldn’t resist getting up and peeking over his shoulder.

“Oh,” she said, and faint lines appeared at the corners of his eyes as he came very close to forgetting himself and properly smiling.

“Were you expecting diamonds?”

“I wasn’t expecting that.” Freddy bent to get a closer look at the earrings, and what the quartz had been carved into. Even when she was in dance training and at peak flexibility, she’d never tried that position. It looked gravity-defying. “Your grandad was a right old rip under the Ye Olde Country Squire appearance, wasn’t he? From the tales I’ve heard about the Wythburn Group, it was probably love at first sight with Henrietta.”

“If you believe in it.” The derision on that one all but bounced off the peeling wallpaper.

“I don’t, as it happens.” Freddy straightened and turned. Her body was almost touching his, and he went very still. “I believe that...something can happen quite fast, though. Once in a while. Maybe even just once.”

When she looked into his eyes, they were wells of darkness with a flicker of warm heat. She could smell whatever he used in the shower; it was spicy and masculine, and it made her want to lean in and inhale against his neck.

He touched his fingertips to a curl at her temple. She hadn’t expected him to make a move, unless it was to direct her back to the stool of silence—which had unexpectedly turned into a therapy chair—and it startled her so much that she twitched. His thumb rested, feather-light, against her cheek. Ever so slightly, just a fragment of motion, he stroked, and the shiver that went through her in response was a hard, shocking jolt.

With her nails digging into the wooden surface of the desk, Freddy rose an inch onto her toes to put their faces at a closer level. When she spoke, she was surprised her voice sounded so normal. “Do you mind if I test out something?”

His own voice was crisp, but that burn of amber was still in his eyes. “Are you asking to kiss me as a social experiment?”

“Well.” Freddy tipped her head. “You are a pro at research.”

Their eyes still locked, neither of them lowering their lashes, their breath mingled and held as she leaned forward and touched her mouth lightly to his. She didn’t move for a few seconds, just feeling the sensation of his lips against hers. Then slowly, she started to kiss him, pressing softly, parting slightly. He was kissing her back while they continued to stare at each other. It was measured, cataloguing, feeling-in-the-dark—and yet, conversely, somehow the most intimate moment she’d ever had with a man. It was as if he was looking right into her, seeing something she hadn’t even known was there, laid bare. Breaking her open.