Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(13)

For the first time Logan realized that Madeline Ridley was pretty—no, beautiful—with delicate features, skin like porcelain, and a mouth that was both innocent and sensuous. Her figure was slender and trim, without the voluptuous sleekness that he preferred in a woman, but attractive nonetheless.

Logan sat in his chair and stared at her steadily. “Where did you get this?” he asked, gesturing to the rose.

“At the Covent Garden flower market. I went there early this morning. It's the most remarkable place, with all the puppeteers and bird dealers, and such an amazing selection of fruits and vegetables—”

“It's not safe for you to go there alone, Miss Ridley. The thieves and Gypsies would make short work of a pigeon like you.”

“I had no trouble at all, Mr. Scott.” Her smile brightened. “It's very kind of you to be concerned about me.”

“I'm not concerned,” he said flatly, tapping his fingers on the desk. “It's just that I've witnessed how trouble seems to follow you.”

“That's not true,” she replied without rancor. “Until now, I daresay I've never caused any trouble for anyone. I've led a very quiet life.”

“Then tell me why an apparently well-bred girl like you would seek a job at the Capital Theatre.”

“To be near you,” she said.

Logan shook his head at the shameless statement. Coming from a girl like her, it made no sense. Her innocence, her inexperience, couldn't be more obvious. Why did she want to have an affair with him?

“Does your family know where you are?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, a touch too quickly.

His lips twisted skeptically. “Who is your father? What is his occupation?”

“He's a…farmer,” came her careful reply.

“Evidently a successful one.” His dubious gaze swept over the soft wool fabric and the fine cut of her gown. “Why aren't you at home with your family, Miss Ridley?”

Her replies became increasingly hesitant, and he sensed her sudden uneasiness. “I've had a falling-out with them.”

“Of what kind?” he asked, not missing the blush of deception that crept over her cheeks.

“I'd rather not say—”

“Does it involve a man?” He saw from the flicker of surprise in her brown eyes that the guess was accurate. Leaning back in his chair, he surveyed her coolly. “We'll leave it at that, Miss Ridley. I don't need—or care—to know anything about your personal life. However, let me advise you once again that if you are somehow harboring hopes that you and I will ever—”

“I understand,” she said matter-of-factly. “You don't want an affair with me.” She retreated from his office, pausing at the door to add, “People change their minds, though.”

“I don't,” he said, scowling as she disappeared from sight. For God's sake, didn't she understand the meaning of the word “no”?

Madeline was busy all day, mending tears and snags in a multitude of costumes, cleaning the clutter from the actors' dressing rooms, sorting stacks of freshly printed handbills, and copying the duchess's scheduling notes for Mr. Scott and other members of the company.

The theater company was like a large family, with all the internal squabbling that could be expected of an extended group. Especially intriguing was the colorful assortment of contract players. It seemed to Madeline that actors were far more interesting and flamboyant than normal people, talking and joking with a frankness that shocked her. No matter what the subject of their conversation, it always seemed to include some mention of Mr. Scott. Clearly they all admired, even worshipped him, using him as the standard by which they measured everyone else.

As Madeline swept the floor of the greenroom and cleared away dirty teacups and plates, she listened to a discussion between some of the Capital's most popular players, about what made people fall in love.

“It's not what you project,” said Arlyss Barry, a petite, curly-haired comic actress. “It's what you don't show. Mr. Scott, for example. Watch him in any role he plays, and you'll see that he always holds something back. It's the mystery of a person that makes you want him, or her.”

“Are we talking about the stage or real life?” asked Stephen Maitland, the blond gentleman who had accidently stabbed Mr. Scott during the fencing match.

“There's a difference?” Charles Haversley, another young contract player, asked in pretend confusion, and they all laughed.

“In this case, no,” Arlyss Barry said. “People always want what they can't have. The audience falls in love with a leading man because he'll never belong to any of them. In real life, it's the same. There's not a man or woman alive who wouldn't fall in love with someone who is out of their reach.”

Madeline stopped nearby with the broom and dustpan in hand. “I'm not certain I agree,” she said thoughtfully. “I'm not very well-versed in such matters, but…if someone were very kind to you, and made you feel safe and loved…wouldn't one find that attractive?”

“I don't know,” Charles said with a rakish grin. “Perhaps you should test your theory on me, Maddy, and we'll see if it works.”

“I believe Maddy is already testing it on someone else,” Arlyss said slyly, laughing as she saw Madeline blush. “Forgive me, dear…we all like to tease each other. You'll have to get used to it, I'm afraid.”