Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(31)

As the grieving widower, he was supposed to be drunk. It wasn't easy to portray intoxication well. Most actors tended to overplay it or, worse, underplay it. It was one of the few pieces of stagecraft that required a great deal of technique in order to seem natural. Forcing himself to concentrate, Logan captured the slur, the expansive gestures, and the off-balance walk of a man who had been drinking for a long time.

He sat in a large oak chair, before a box set resembling a library. Clearing his mind of all else, he began a lengthy monologue, revealing the biting irony and quiet despair of his character.

Somewhere in the midst of the monologue, Logan felt rather than saw Madeline come up behind him, her small hands resting on the back of his chair. As the play dictated, she leaned over him and spoke during the pauses of his monologue, her sweet voice falling against his ears.

Logan didn't move. He was feverishly aware of her body just behind him, her scent, the feel of her breath on his skin. He began to sweat profusely. One of Madeline's long golden-brown curls fell over his shoulder, tickling his neck. An aching pressure gathered in his groin. He was rock-hard, his entire being consumed with lust and yearning.

Logan couldn't stand it any longer. He broke in midsentence, just as Charles had…only he wasn't laughing.

The theater was silent. Logan tried to collect himself, aware that the cast and crew were watching. Perhaps they thought he had forgotten a line, although that had never happened before. He hoped to God no one suspected the truth—that he was completely undone by one naive girl. Setting his jaw hard, he took several deep, even breaths.

“Mr. Scott,” came Madeline's hesitant voice from behind him, “if you would like me to tell you the line—”

“I know the bloody line,” he said, his back stiff. God help him, if he glanced at her even once, he was afraid of what he might do.

Julia spoke from the audience seat. “Is there a problem, Mr. Scott?”

Logan responded with a murderous glare, longing to strangle his comanager for putting him in this situation. Julia was genuinely puzzled, staring back at him with knitted brows. She pondered his simmering discomfort, her gaze flickering from him to Madeline, who continued to stand right behind him. Then she seemed to understand. They had been friends for a long time, he and Julia. She knew him too well.

“Shall we break for a few minutes?” she asked briskly.

“No,” Logan muttered. “Let's finish the damned scene.” He swiped at his forehead and resumed the monologue once more, starting somewhere in the middle. Madeline followed along, a note of uncertainty in her voice.

Without regard to technique, characterization, or any of the nuances of acting, Logan muddled through the rest of the scene. Julia let the performance pass without comment, speculation causing her fair brow to crease.

The second the scene ended, Julia called for a twenty-minute break. The theater company dispersed at once, heading to the greenroom in search of refreshment or to the dressing rooms. Logan remained in his chair onstage, keeping his back to Madeline until he sensed that she had left.

Slowly Julia made her way to the edge of the stage, rubbing the small of her back. “Logan,” she said quietly, “I have no desire to interfere—”

“Then don't.” He walked downstage to within a few feet of her, staring into her upturned face.

Julia made certain no one was close enough to overhear before she continued, choosing her words with obvious care. “I suspected there was an attraction between you and Maddy, but she's not the kind of girl you've ever been interested in before, and I certainly never dreamed—”

“What is your point, Your Grace?”

She looked stung by his abruptness. “I happen to like Maddy. I hope you won't take advantage of her. You and I both know she would never recover from an affair with you. She's not nearly hardened enough.”

Logan felt his face turn to stone. “What I do—or don't do—with her is my business.”

“Maddy's welfare is also my concern. And I seem to recall your hard-and-fast rule that you never become personally involved with anyone in the company—”

“She's your employee, not mine. I didn't hire her, and therefore I'm free to do whatever the hell I want with her.”

“Logan,” she warned in frustration, watching as he strode away.

Madeline wandered through the greenroom, summoning a wan smile in response to the other actors' praise for her efforts.

“What's the matter with Mr. Scott?” she overheard someone asking. “He's been acting strange lately.”

“Who knows?” came another's reply. “I just hope it isn't that bloody fever that's going around. All the company needs is for Mr. Scott to be under the hatches.”

The rest of the conversation was lost on Madeline as she headed to the practice rooms. She needed to find a place to think. What had happened onstage? She had thought everything was going well. She had even felt a sort of connection with Mr. Scott. But he had turned wooden, his performance strangely mechanical, as if he could hardly bear her presence. She felt close to weeping…she wanted to hide somewhere.

She heard rapid footsteps behind her. Someone caught her arm in a biting grip and ushered her into the nearest practice room. Madeline stumbled a little, twisting to stare at her captor with wide eyes as he closed the door. “Mr. Scott…”