Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(34)

Logan felt the bracing effects of the whiskey settle in his bones, making him comfortably numb. Just as he preferred. Carefully he replaced the bottle of whiskey in the drawer and closed it.

Five

Madeline went to bed early, deciding to forgo her nightly conversation with Mrs. Florence. The pain of rejection was too fresh. Perhaps she would be able to talk about it tomorrow, or the next day, when she was able to compose herself.

Staring into the darkness, Madeline considered not returning to the Capital. The idea of facing Mr. Scott again was unbearable. Unfortunately she had promised the duchess that she would help with rehearsals until Miss Barry was well again. She couldn't break a promise, but to stand opposite Mr. Scott on stage and look into his eyes…Madeline winced in acute embarrassment. She didn't know if she could do it.

Just one or two days—surely Miss Barry would be well by then. She would steel herself not to blush or stammer in front of Mr. Scott. She would be cool and utterly self-possessed.

Madeline turned and twisted in the bedclothes all night, trying in vain to escape her thoughts. In the morning she awoke exhausted and apprehensive, wondering if she had ever dreaded a day in her life as she did this one. No doubt she wasn't the first woman to fail at seducing a man—but how many of them were required to face him the very next day and pretend nothing had happened?

She donned her clothes and arranged her hair, pinning it into a tight coil at the nape of her neck. She managed to leave before Mrs. Florence rose for the day, and took a hackney to the theater.

The theater company seemed unusually lackluster, the practice rooms and workshops much quieter than usual. Discovering that the morning rehearsal had been canceled, Madeline went to the costume shop and was immediately enlisted by Mrs. Lyttleton. “It seems as if half the company is ill,” the heavyset woman said breathlessly, her needle flashing as she basted a seam. “A dozen people have sent word that they won't be coming in. But my work has to be done as usual, and I've practically no help.”

Madeline worked in the costume shop for most of the morning, grateful for the temporary reprieve from seeing Mr. Scott. It was only when Mrs. Lyttleton commanded her to fetch some costume sketches from the duchess's office that Madeline wandered reluctantly into the main theater building. As she approached the office, she heard an unfamiliar male voice mingling with Julia's light, clear tones. Madeline stopped just outside the doorway, reluctant to intrude on the scene.

“It's enough,” the man was saying. “I told you to stay away from this damned theater.”

“There's too much to be done,” Julia replied. “Just one more day, darling. Perhaps two. I can't leave with so many things unfinished—”

“Your health means more to me than anyone or anything in this entire place.”

“I promise you, I'll be fine.”

“Come home, Julia.”

“First I have to pack some things.”

“I'll send a servant later to fetch whatever you desire.”

“You're being unreasonable—”

There was a long pause, followed by a muffled sound that Madeline couldn't quite decipher. Then the man spoke softly. “Are you still going to argue with me, Julia?”

“No.”

Madeline had never heard such a meek tone from the duchess, who was usually so firm and authoritative. Gingerly she peeked around the corner and saw the duchess standing in the middle of her office, being thoroughly kissed by a dark-haired man. The Duke of Leeds, Madeline thought, her interest immediately sparked. He lifted his head, revealing a lean, exotically handsome face as he stared at his wife with loving exasperation. Evidently sensing that they were not alone, he glanced in Madeline's direction with alert gray eyes.

Blushing, Madeline came forward at once. “Forgive me, I didn't mean to intrude—”

“That's all right, Maddy,” Julia said, her cheeks pink as she disentangled herself from her husband's arms. She introduced them, and Madeline sank into a respectful curtsy.

“A pleasure,” the duke murmured with a friendly glint in his eyes. “Miss Ridley, I would appreciate your efforts to help the duchess gather any necessary papers and books, as she is leaving immediately.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Julia rolled her eyes and sighed. “It seems I have no choice. Maddy, please tell Mr. Scott that I need to speak with him at once. He's been in his office all morning, trying to rearrange the schedule to accommodate the absences in the company.”

Although Madeline dreaded having to face Mr. Scott, she nodded resolutely. The duke and duchess resumed their conversation as she left, both of them seeming to take great pleasure in a new bout of verbal sparring.

Madeline reached Scott's door and hesitated, listening for signs of activity inside. The office was jarringly silent. Hoping that Scott wasn't there, she lifted her hand and knocked softly.

“I'm working,” came a threatening rumble from within.

Madeline twisted her hands together and stared at the door. Gathering her resolve, she finally spoke in a calm, controlled voice. “Mr. Scott, the duchess wishes to speak to you.”

He was silent for a moment. “You,” he said in an unfriendly tone.

“I believe the duchess wishes to tell you that she is leaving, sir. The duke has come to take her home.” Madeline was greeted with more silence. “It's not wise for her to stay at the Capital in her condition. I'm certain you would agree that with all the people who have succumbed to the fever—”