Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(30)

“All right,” she said, giving him an uncertain smile as she continued toward the stage area. As she passed him, she wondered why his hand was clenched hard around the door frame, the pressure making his fingers white. Dismayed, she thought that Mr. Scott hadn't been telling the truth. He was angry with her. She went to the wings with a heavy sigh, jerking up the drooping bodice of her gown.

Why had she picked a man who was so difficult to seduce? She may as well settle for Charles Haversley and be done with it. But Haversley didn't inspire any of the feelings she had for Mr. Scott…the giddy nervousness, the fear and delight that tangled inside her whenever he was near. She wanted to be in his arms and no one else's…to know the forbidden pleasure of being with him—

“Maddy,” came the Duchess of Leeds's voice as she entered the wings. Madeline ventured from behind the curtain.

“Yes, Your Grace?”

Julia sat in the first row of seats. A smile appeared on her face as she saw Madeline. “You look very nice in costume, Maddy. Before we begin, I want to assure you that no one expects you to do everything perfectly. Just follow along as best you can, and try to enjoy yourself.”

Madeline listened to Julia's directions. They were going to rehearse the opening of the play, in which the ghost of a young woman visited the loved ones she had left behind: her brother, played by Charles Aversley; her “parents,” Mrs. Anderson and Mr. Burgess…and of course, her husband, played by Mr. Scott.

“None of them are supposed to see or hear you,” Julia told Madeline, “but they all have an awareness that someone…or something…is there.”

“I understand,” Madeline said, retreating to the wings from which Arlyss was to make her first entrance.

The rehearsal went smoothly, with few interruptions. After a while Madeline lost her self-consciousness and imitated Arlyss Barry's previous performances as closely as possible, even matching some of her gestures and inflections.

“Very good, Maddy,” Julia said occasionally, as Madeline moved in and out of the scene, speaking to her unhearing companions and witnessing what had become of them since her death.

There was only one break in the action, when Charles Haversley happened to glance at Madeline and stopped in midsentence. Suddenly he erupted in helpless laughter. Puzzled, Madeline stared at him, while Julia asked crisply what was wrong.

Haversley shook his head and looked apologetic, even as he continued to snort with amusement. “I can't help it, Your Grace,” he said, gasping. “Miss Ridley stares at me as if she believes everything I'm saying, and she looks so earnest…it's too adorable.”

Julia gave him a reproving stare. “You're not supposed to look at her, Charles. She's a ghost.”

“I can't help it,” he said again, smiling raffishly at Julia. “If you were a man, you would understand.”

“Oh, I understand,” Julia replied dryly. “You would do us all a service, Charles, if you could manage to act like a brother instead of a town-bull.”

“Town-bull?” Madeline asked, perplexed, having never encountered such a term at Mrs. All-bright's academy. For some reason her question set off another spurt of laughter in Charles. She looked to the wings, where Mr. Scott waited to make his entrance. He was a striking figure as he stood amidst the velvet curtains, dressed in elegant clothes, his posture relaxed yet controlled.

It struck Madeline that a hundred years from now, people would read about him in history books and wonder what it must have been like to see him act. No words would ever accurately describe his voice, with its deep, vibrant quality, or the remarkable range of his talent. It seemed as if Mr. Scott were two different people: the disciplined man offstage, and the actor whose emotions simmered and exploded during a performance. Mrs. Florence had been right—this was the place to approach him.

Logan watched the rehearsal from the wings, resentment uncoiling in his chest. Damn Julia for suggesting that Madeline assume Arlyss's place…damn Arlyss and her understudy for being ill…damn himself for being so riveted by Madeline that he could barely remember his lines. Who could blame Charles Haversley for his lack of concentration? Logan doubted he would fare any better, with Madeline dressed in a flimsy costume that made him want to sink to his knees before her and bury his face between her br**sts. She looked so young and fresh, her skin like cream silk. It wasn't her sheer prettiness that proved such a potent allure; it was the troubling desire to cover her up and carry her away from the others' admiring gazes…to keep her all to himself.

Somehow Madeline had insinuated herself into his life and forced him to take notice of her, and now there was no retreat. Now that he had rejected the idea of taking her into his bed, she had become the thing he most wanted. Every other woman he had considered seemed to lack something, and it maddened him to realize that he was subconsciously looking for her likeness. He couldn't stop thinking about what it would be like to lose himself inside her youthful energy. She made him want to play, to experience a little of the boyhood he'd never had…and that was something no other lover had ever been able to do.

He felt hot and annoyed, and ready to chew the scenery into splinters. Hearing his cue, he took a bottle from the propman, holding it loosely between his fingers as he walked onstage. The other actors had made their exits, the boards cleared except for him and Madeline.