Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(12)

“She's a green girl who knows nothing about the theater.”

“We were all green at one time,” Julia replied, and gave him a glance of gentle mockery. “Everyone except you, of course. You must have sprung from the womb knowing everything about the stage—”

“She doesn't belong here,” Logan interrupted. “Even you can't argue that point.”

“Perhaps not,” she conceded. “But Madeline is a sweet, intelligent young woman who has obviously landed in some sort of trouble. I want to help her.”

“The only way to help her is to send her back where she came from.”

“What if she's run away from a dangerous situation? Aren't you the least bit concerned? Even curious?”

“No.”

Julia sighed in exasperation. “If Madeline doesn't work here, who knows what circumstances she'll find herself in? I'll pay her salary out of my own pocket, if you prefer.”

“We're not running a charity, damn you!”

“I need an assistant,” Julia said. “I have needed one for quite some time. Madeline is exactly what I require. Why does that pose such a problem for you?”

“Because she…” Logan closed his mouth abruptly. The problem was, the girl bothered him for reasons he didn't understand. Perhaps it was because she was so ridiculously open and unguarded…the antithesis of his own nature. She made him damned uncomfortable, reminding him of everything he didn't want to be, of all the things he had struggled to change in himself. However, he wasn't about to provide such information for Julia's entertainment. It had always irked her that he managed his life and his emotions with apparent ease.

“Logan,” Julia said impatiently, failing to read his thoughts in the silence, “you must be able to offer some explanation.”

“The fact that she's a clumsy fool should be enough.”

Julia's mouth fell open. “Everyone has an occasional accident. It's not like you to be so petty!”

“I say she goes, and I'll hear no more about it.”

“Then you be the one to dismiss her. I'm sure I would choke on the words.”

“I'll have no such problem,” Logan informed her. “Where is she?”

“I sent her to help Mrs. Lyttleton with the costumes,” Julia snapped, turning away from him to riffle through a pile of papers on her desk.

Logan left Julia's office, determined to find the girl immediately. The costume shop was located in a building set a small distance from the others, as it constituted more of a fire hazard than any other part of the theater. There was a better chance of containing a fire there and preventing the rest of the Capital from burning.

Mrs. Lyttleton was a cheerful mountain of a woman topped with a pile of brown curls. Her massive hands moved with dexterity as she created the most exquisite costumes seen on any stage. She employed a half-dozen girls to help in the task of sewing and maintaining the huge collection of garments that filled rack after rack. The look of a production at the Capital Theatre was uniquely lavish, and the actors and audience alike were aware that no expense had been spared to create the effect.

“Mr. Scott,” the seamstress said jovially, “what may I do for you? Is the shirt you wore last night still too short in the sleeves? I'll let them out again if necessary.”

Logan didn't want to bother with small talk. “There's a new girl—Miss Ridley. I want to see her.”

“Ah, she's a pretty slip of a thing, isn't she? I sent her out to the back with some baskets of costumes to be specially laundered. The silk on the gowns is too delicate to hang in the city air with all its soot, so the baskets will be taken to the country, and the washing and drying done there—”

“Thank you,” Logan interrupted, having little interest in the intricacies of laundry. “Good day, Mrs. Lyttleton—”

“After she takes the baskets to the laundry cart,” the seamstress said, “she's to go to your office with the costume sketches for Othello.”

“Thank you,” Logan said through his teeth, experiencing a stab of annoyance—or perhaps alarm—at the notion of Madeline Ridley visiting his office. With the disasters that seemed to occur whenever she was in the vicinity, he would be fortunate if his office hadn't been reduced to a pile of rubble by the time she left.

However, when he reached the small room he considered his sacred territory, he found it empty—and considerably cleaner than it had been in years. Books and stacks of paper had been consolidated into neat piles, shelves and furniture had been dusted, and his chaotically cluttered desk had been straightened and wiped clean. Logan entered the office and looked around bemusedly. “How the hell am I going to find anything now?” he muttered. His attention was caught by a spot of color in the room, a half-opened red rose that had been placed in a glass of water on his desk.

Taken aback, Logan touched the velvety hothouse blossom.

“It's a peace offering,” came Madeline's voice from behind him. He swiveled around to find her peeking around the door frame with a friendly smile. “Along with my promise not to cause you any further injuries.”

Perplexed and silent, Logan stared at her. The curt dismissal he had been so eager to give her faded on his lips. He had thought himself far beyond any twinges of guilt by now, but the girl's sweet, hopeful face made him distinctly uncomfortable. Moreover, there was no way he could fire her without appearing to be an ogre in front of the entire company. He wondered if she were really as innocent as she appeared, or if she were a clever manipulator. Her large brown eyes gave no clue.