How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(77)
Hunching his shoulders, he braced his arms across his chest and listened intently, half his attention on the lines being delivered on stage, half on the pandemonium backstage. He adored the energy of the theater, the frenetic chaos of actors and stagehands rushing about madly behind the curtains to produce rehearsed magic for the audience. Economies at Merrick’s meant he might write a play, perform in it, assist with scene changes from the catwalk, and direct other actors—all in one evening.
Tonight, though, beyond writing the words spoken on stage, the production was out of his hands, and that heightened his nerves. Idleness made him brood.
Behind him a husky female voice cried out, and Kit turned to intercept the woman as she rushed forward, filling his arms with soft curves.
“There’s a mouse!” Tess, the playhouse’s leading lady, batted thick lashes and stuck out a vermillion-stained lower lip. “Vile creatures. Every one of them.”
“Tell me where.” Kit gently dislodged the petite blonde from his embrace.
“Scurried underneath, so it did.” She indicated a battered chest of drawers, sometimes used for storage, more often as a set piece.
Kit approached the bulky wooden chest, crouched down, and saw nothing but darkness and dust. Bracing his palms on the floor, he lowered until his chest pressed against wood, and he spied the little creature huddling in the farthest corner. The tiny mouse looked far more frightened of him than Tess was of it.
“Can you catch the beast? We can find a cage or give it to the stray cats hanging about the stage doors.”
“Too far out of reach.” He could move the chest, but the mouse would no doubt scurry away. Seemed kinder to allow the animal to find its own way to freedom. Kit knew what it was to be trapped and frightened. To cower in darkness covered in dust. His father hadn’t shut him up in a cage, just a closet now and then, but Kit would be damned if he’d confine any creature.
Tess made an odd sound. Of protest, Kit assumed. But when he cast a glance over his shoulder, her gaze raked hungrily over his legs and backside as he got to his feet.
“The little thing will no doubt find its way out of doors, Tess. Not much food to be had here.”
Tess took his attempt at reassurance as an invitation and launched herself into his arms.
She was an appealing woman, with tousled golden curls, catlike green eyes, and an exceedingly ample—Ah, yes, there they are—bosom that she shifted enticingly against his chest, as if she knew precisely how good her lush body felt against his. Without a hint of shame or restraint, she moved her hands down his arms, slid them under his unbuttoned sack coat, and stroked her fingers up his back.
“Goodness, you’re deliciously tall.”
Kit grinned. He found female praise for his awkward height amusing, since he’d been mercilessly teased for his long frame as a child. In a theater world full of handsome, charming actors, his stature and whatever skill he possessed with the written word were all that set him apart.
“You’re like a tree I long to climb,” she purred. “Feels so right in your arms. Perhaps the gods are telling us that’s where I belong.”
Tess wasn’t merely generously built. From the day she arrived, she’d been generous with her affections too. Half the men at Merrick’s were smitten, but Kit kept to his rule about avoiding intrigues with ladies in the troupe. Since coming to London, he’d never sought more than a short-lived entanglement with any woman. He relished his liberty too much to allow himself more.
“Perhaps the gods are unaware you’re due on stage for the next act,” he teased, making light of her flirtation as he’d done since their introduction.
“Always concerned about your play, aren’t you, lovie?” She slid a hand up his body, snaking a finger between the buttons of his waistcoat. “I know my part. Don’t worry, Kitten.”
The pet name she’d chosen for him grated on his nerves.
“The music’s risen, Tess.” Kit gripped the actress’s hand when she reached toward his waistband. “That’s your cue.”
“I’ll make you proud.” She winked and lifted onto her toes, placing a damp kiss on his cheek. “You’re a difficult man to seduce,” she whispered, “but I do so love a challenge.” After sauntering to the curtain’s edge, she offered him a final come-hither glance before sashaying on stage.
“Already breaking hearts, Kitten? The evening’s only just begun.” Jasper Grey, Merrick Theater’s lead actor and Kit’s closest friend, exited stage left and sidled up beside him. With a few swipes across his head, Grey disheveled his coppery brown hair and loosened the faux silk cravat at his throat. The changes were subtle, but sufficient to signal to the audience that his character would begin a descent into madness and debauchery during the second act. Having explored many of London’s diversions at the man’s side, Kit could attest to Grey’s knack for debauchery, on and off the stage.
“I’m sure you’ll be more than happy to offer solace. Or have you already?” Choosing a new lover each night of the week was more Grey’s style than Kit’s, though both had attracted their share of stage-door admirers and earned their reputations as rogues.
Grey’s smirk gave everything away. “Whatever the nature of my private moments with our lovely leading lady, the minx is determined to offer you her heart.”