Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(25)



Although it was hard to conceal her dismay and jealousy, Madeline managed to keep her expression blank as the pair glanced at her. “Mr. Scott,” she murmured, “I didn't expect to find you here at this time of day—”

“I came here for privacy.” His tone was flat and dismissive.

“Yes, sir.” Flushing, Madeline set the stack of clothes on the chair in the corner. “I'll return later to put these away.”

“Let the girl do her work,” the blond woman said lightly, taking no more notice of Madeline than she would a servant. “I must be off anyway, and I've no desire to interfere with the running of your theater.”

Logan smiled, pushing away from the table and touching her elbow lightly. The gesture was small, but to Madeline's growing discomfort, it seemed to contain an inference of close and intimate friendship.

“Any interference from you is entirely welcome, milady.”

The woman's ungloved hand smoothed over the linen that covered his forearm. “Then you shall have more of it.”

“I hope so.” Their gazes held for several seconds.

Madeline busied herself with the clothes, taking them to the armoire and hanging them methodically. She felt betrayed, although she had no right. After all, Mr. Scott was free to pursue anyone he desired…But why couldn't it have been me? she thought, seething inwardly.

Mr. Scott murmured a soft question, and the woman smiled and shook her head as she replied. “In the interest of discretion, I'll see myself out.” Staring into his eyes, she pulled on her gloves and adjusted each ringer precisely. Mr. Scott swung a fur-trimmed cloak over the lady's narrow shoulders, taking care to fasten it snugly at her throat to ward off the winter wind. The woman slipped past the door, leaving behind a delicate flowery scent that lingered in the air.

The dressing room was silent. Mr. Scott stared contemplatively at the door while Madeline finished hanging the costumes in the armoire. She closed the cabinet door a little too firmly, causing Mr. Scott to turn toward her, his dark brow arched inquiringly.

“She wears a rather strong perfume,” Madeline remarked, waving one hand about as if to dispel a noxious odor.

“I thought it rather pleasant,” Mr. Scott replied, his gaze following her intently as she moved about the room, rearranging the articles on his dressing table, straightening the chair against the wall, picking up a small coin from the floor.

Although Madeline tried to be silent, she couldn't prevent the impulsive question that sprang from her lips. “Is she your paramour?”

Mr. Scott's face was smooth and implacable. “My private life isn't open for discussion.”

“She was wearing a wedding ring.”

For some reason her disapproving expression seemed to amuse him. “It means nothing,” he informed her dryly. “She and her husband have a well-known understanding.”

Madeline puzzled briefly over his meaning. “You're saying that he wouldn't mind if his wife…and you…he wouldn't object?”

“Not as long as she's discreet.”

“How very odd.”

“Hardly. Many wives of the upper classes are allowed to have ‘friendships’ outside their marriages. It keeps them from complaining about their husbands' infidelities.”

“And it doesn't bother you, the idea of making love to another man's wife?” Madeline dared to ask.

“I prefer married women,” he replied evenly. “They're rarely demanding or possessive.”

“If that woman weren't married, would you still want to have an affair with her?”

“That's not your concern, Miss Ridley.”

Faced with his abrupt, dismissive manner, Madeline left the dressing room. “Oh, yes, it is my concern,” she said too softly for him to hear. Her determination to have him was stronger than ever. If it was humanly possible to divert his interest from the blond married woman and turn it toward herself, she would do it.

In the next few days, an illness struck four employees of the Capital, two of them actors and two from the carpenter's shop. The symptoms were high fever, coughing, and congestion, and in the case of one patient, a delirium that had lasted for two days. The duchess sent servants to inquire about the well-being of her employees.

“Illness tends to travel through the entire company before it's finished,” Julia commented to Madeline with a frown. “It's too much to hope that no one else becomes ill.”

“Your Grace,” Madeline said, her gaze falling to the duchess's obvious pregnancy, “in your condition, you must be careful—”

“Yes, of course.” Julia sighed impatiently. “But I can't stay home when there is so much to be done here.”

“Your health is more important than any play, Your Grace.”

The duchess snorted. “Don't say that in Mr. Scott's hearing. He doesn't believe in illness. For as long as I've known him, he's thought that nothing, not even scarlet fever, should interfere with the theater schedule.”

“But people can't help getting sick,” Madeline protested, wondering if Mr. Scott were really so unreasonable.

Julia rolled her eyes. “Logan has little tolerance for human frailty. How can he understand weakness when he doesn't have any himself?” Bracing her hands on the edge of her desk, she stood up and quirked her mouth. “I'll have to tell him about the situation. I expect he'll start roaring like a bear.”

Lisa Kleypas's Books