Playing The Duke's Mistress

Chapter Three

Yet mark me well, young lord; I think Calista

Too nice, too noble, and too great a soul,

To be the prey of such a thing as thou art.

Nicholas Rowe: The Fair Penitent (1703)

‘Another fine performance, Miss Fairmont.’

Calista spun around to see a tall shadow emerge from the dark laneway into the light of the stage door. The Duke of Albury.

Tonight, he appeared even taller than he had in the private dining room of the Coach and Horses. He wore a top hat and a coat made of broadcloth with wide lapels that emphasised the breadth of his chest. A paisley-patterned necktie was folded four-in-hand beneath his jaw. But his arrogant face with his winged eyebrows and the hard line of his mouth were the same.

The stage door swung closed behind her. She stepped into the lane, but stayed in the light.

‘Your Grace.’ She couldn’t ignore the man or pretend they had no acquaintance. Instead she inclined her neck as little as politeness could possibly allow. ‘I’m surprised to see you again. Particularly at the theatre.’

The duke shrugged. ‘Let’s say I’ve become intrigued. I’m ashamed not to have witnessed your talents on the stage before, Miss Fairmont. Your work is something to behold.’ He stepped closer. ‘I’d like to talk to you, if I may.’

Calista bit her lip. It was never her way to be rude, but she owed this man no politeness and she was exhausted after her performance. She’d got caught up in a discussion about props with the theatre manager and by the time she had removed her costume she had been much later than usual leaving the theatre.

Apart from the duke and the stage doorman, who was a few feet away, busy picking up playbills dropped by the audience to re-use the next day, the alley was empty, thank goodness. Some of the terror that had tightened her chest abated. Usually this area was filled with a crowd waiting for cast members to appear, but the rest of the actors had already gone home or on to further merriment for the night.

She had no time to waste with the duke, nor the energy to duel with him again. He’d already demanded enough of her attention. The sting of his words from a couple of nights before had hardly subsided. The sight of him only reignited her indignation. ‘There’s nothing you might say to interest me.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Not even an apology? Why, Miss Fairmont, don’t you owe it to common courtesy to listen?’

‘It was you, not I who forgot common courtesy the other night,’ she retorted.

‘Then I must prevail upon you to allow me to make up for it now.’ He took another step towards her, closing the gap between them. She could see him more clearly now, even in the dim light from the door. Around his mouth were two brackets that suggested the hard line of his mouth could break into laughter. She found that difficult to imagine.

‘I believe I owe you not one but two apologies, in fact,’ he said smoothly. ‘The first is an apology for not having seen you perform on stage before. It was my loss. You played an exceptional Rosalind. You were—remarkable.’

‘Thank you.’ She inclined her bonnet an inch. If he thought she was going to be appeased by flattery for her performance, he was very much mistaken, and she couldn’t help feeling suspicious.

The line of his mouth curved. ‘You’re the first actress I’ve ever met who doesn’t appreciate praise.’

‘I thought you avoided actresses,’ she replied swiftly.

He released a dry chuckle. ‘Touché, Miss Fairmont. It’s true I have limited acquaintance with ladies of your profession.’

She raised an eyebrow of her own. ‘Yet you seem to have such set opinions about them. Perhaps you ought to learn more before you make such outrageous allegations in the future.’

‘That’s precisely why I’m here,’ he said to her surprise. ‘But let me make my second apology. I ought not to have made such comments about your profession and offered money to your friend.’

Heat surged thought her body just recalling the incident. ‘It was an insult. Not just to Mabel, but to all actresses.’

He bowed. ‘Allow me to express my regret.’

Calista stiffened and tugged her cloak more tightly around her. Something about the way the duke spoke was unconvincing. She could always tell. Her ear was attuned to insincerity, for a line spoken without conviction would never ring true on stage. Was he mocking her?

‘Thank you for the apology. But it doesn’t sufficiently excuse your behaviour, especially as a member of the aristocracy. You have only made me more determined to avoid your kind in future.’ She sketched a curtsy. ‘Good evening, Your Grace.’

Her skirts swirled as she made to move past him.

‘Miss Fairmont. Wait.’

Slowly she pivoted.

His coat billowed behind him and in a single stride he was once more beside her.

‘Yes?’

‘It seems I need to be more honest with you.’ He paused. ‘I’m the head of the Carlyle family. I told you that last night. But my cousin Herbert is my personal responsibility.’

‘In what way?’

‘Herbert had some trouble when he was younger.’ He appeared to choose his words with care. ‘I took it upon myself to look out for him.’

She studied him. ‘And you still do.’

He inclined his head.

‘Your cousin is a grown man,’ she said.

‘So I’ve been reminded by him. But old habits die hard.’

Once again she studied his face. This time in his dark eyes she saw honesty and more. ‘You’re fond of him.’

He nodded. ‘He’s a foolish fellow at times. But I must own it. I am fond of him.’

‘I have a younger sister. She means everything to me. If she was in trouble, I know I’d intervene on her behalf,’ Calista admitted.

‘Then you understand family duty,’ he said.

‘Yes. I do.’

Silence filled the misty air between them.

‘Herbert is easily influenced,’ the duke said after a moment. ‘I’d hate to see him duped.’

Calista stepped back. ‘That may be so, but it still doesn’t give you the right to speak to anyone in such a manner. And it doesn’t excuse what you said about actresses.’

‘Perhaps all actresses aren’t the same,’ he conceded.

Was he sincere? Doubt wavered inside her, but she knew it would be ungracious not to accept his apology. After all, he’d come to the theatre to watch her performance, then waited for her in the cold night air.

Calista held out her gloved hand. ‘I accept your apology. I’m not one to hold a grudge.’

He took a step backward. For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to take her proffered hand. Then he reached out his own. His leather-clad fingers enclosed her own. His hand was large, his grip firm.

‘Thank you for being so understanding,’ he said. ‘It’s most gracious of you.’

His fingers trailed across the woollen palm of her glove. Even through the fabric she felt the heat of his touch.

Rapidly she withdrew her hand. ‘I’d defend my sister, Columbine, and Mabel, too, so I understand your impulse to protect Herbert. And you’re wrong about actresses, you know.’

He raised a sardonic brow. ‘Am I wrong about Miss Coop?’

He seemed to discern her inner struggle to find an honest reply. Mabel could be flighty; there was no doubt about that. Calista had witnessed enough of her flirtations, and there had been many, and they often ended in tearful disaster. Whether this affair would last with Sir Herbert was difficult to predict. Yet surely the two of them deserved a chance at happiness, without the interference of the Duke of Albury.

‘Mabel has a good heart,’ she said at last. ‘She believes herself to be in love with your cousin.’

A smile darted at the corner of the duke’s mouth. ‘A most diplomatic answer.’

Calista felt her own mouth turn upward. His gaze followed the curve of her lips.

She felt a flicker, deep inside her, followed by instant wariness.

Calista pulled her cloak over her body. ‘Well, goodbye. Thank you for coming to the play and for your apology.’

‘I hoped you might take supper with me,’ he said suddenly, to her surprise.

No dinners with dukes. She’d broken her rule once in this past week and she wasn’t going to make that mistake again. She ignored an unexpected shaft of disappointment at the thought. ‘Thank you, but I can’t accept your invitation.’

‘I can promise you might actually eat some lobster this time.’

A laugh burst from her lips. The supper two nights before had held some comic elements, she realised now. ‘Lobster is more to Mabel’s taste than mine. But it’s late and I must go home.’

If he was disappointed by her refusal, he made no sign of it. With his hand raised he moved towards the street. ‘Allow me to call you a hansom.’

How she longed for a hansom cab to carry her home safely, but the money could never be spared. Every shilling she spent on herself was money she would be unable to save for Columbine’s care.

Quickly she shook her head. ‘I prefer to walk.’

His eyes narrowed. He lowered his raised hand.

‘Then perhaps you will allow me to accompany you to your lodging,’ he said smoothly.

‘What?’

‘Do you think dukes don’t walk? The streets of London are open to everyone.’

‘But...but my home is a good distance away. The walk does me good after performing,’ she added as an explanation. ‘Fresh air, you see.’

‘There’s fresh air in London? Then I’m sure it will also do me good.’

Was that slight curve of the duke’s lips another half-smile? In the dim gaslight Calista couldn’t be sure.

The burly doorman returned to his post. ‘All right there, Miss Fairmont?’

‘Yes, thank you, Fred.’

The man settled back against the doorframe, his arms folded.

The duke raised an eyebrow.

‘There are sometimes gentlemen who won’t take no for an answer when they ask an actress to dinner,’ Calista told him quietly.

‘Indeed?’ He frowned. ‘I will accept your refusal, but I hope you won’t give me one. You will come to no harm in my company. You’ve already encountered my more undesirable characteristics. I may bark, but I don’t bite. Not often at least.’

Calista bit her lip. Her instinct was to trust the duke. How could that be, after his behaviour the other night? Yet she couldn’t deny it would be good to have company on the way home, especially in the current circumstances.

She couldn’t risk it.

She inclined her head. ‘Thank you for the offer. But I prefer to walk alone.’

Ignoring his amazed expression and the renewed band of terror that tightened around her chest, she raised her chin and walked away.

* * *

Darius drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for his whisky to arrive. It had only just passed six o’clock in the evening, which was the polite hour to start drinking, but he’d nearly started earlier in the day, consumed by thoughts of his encounter with Miss Fairmont the previous evening.

At a table by the long window he noticed an acquaintance with whom he often played cards having a quiet drink with his father. The two of them looked relaxed together, comfortable.

For a brief moment Darius wondered what it must be like to have such a companionable relationship with one’s father. He couldn’t recall having a drink with his own papa that hadn’t ended in a quarrel. They’d certainly never chosen to spend time together. Family occasions especially had always been avoided.

No wonder he was so cynical about happy families these days. He’d developed a reluctance—no, an aversion—to ever marrying. He’d seen enough of the so-called happy state to put him off for a lifetime.

When his drink was delivered, Darius gripped the crystal glass harder than usual. He never let his thoughts stray to thoughts of marriage or family life. He possessed too much discipline for that.

He knocked back a gulp of whisky and pulled out his list.

Courting Calista Fairmont.

The words were written in black ink and underlined twice.

He surveyed the list.

He’d planned carefully how to prove that she was just the same as any other title-hunting actress. He had anticipated it would be an easy task. He of all people knew all too well what was required to tempt such women.

To drown any further memories he took another sip of drink.

The previous night he’d gone home and had lain restless in bed for hours. Miss Fairmont’s company had been more stimulating than he’d expected. He couldn’t quite countenance that she’d refused his offer to walk her home.

For a moment, he’d thought she had wanted to accept. There had been a strange flicker in her eyes as she’d looked over his shoulder into the shroud of fog—had it been fear? He could have sworn just for a moment that she was almost terrified, before she’d covered it up with a lift of her chin and a determined step into the dark.

Her dignified acceptance of his apology had surprised him, too. He realised she’d known it to be a sham at first, had sensed it with her woman’s intuition, perhaps, yet when she’d offered him her hand, his own honour had kicked in. He couldn’t shake her hand in mockery. His apology, at the moment their fingers touched, had become real. Even through their gloves the memory of her fine-boned hand in his seemed imprinted in his mind.

Yet he wasn’t going to be fooled by this woman. He’d awoken this morning with a renewed determination to stick to his plan. He wouldn’t allow the Carlyle curse to ruin another generation. But he had to admit the previous evening had been something of a revelation. Above all else, there had been Miss Fairmont’s extraordinary performance on the stage as Rosalind. He’d seen the play before, of course, but never like that. She was Rosalind. She had been utterly believable, completely compelling, as if Shakespeare had created the part especially for her.

And those breeches had revealed a stunning pair of legs.

Of course, it hadn’t merely been Miss Fairmont’s legs that had convinced Darius he must be watching one of the best actresses of her generation. It was her husky, melodious voice that had carried across the audience. Her gliding movements across the stage. The entrances that captured instant attention, the graceful exits. Her timing, both comic and dramatic. Every element had come together into a perfect performance. She was generous, too, allowing the other actors and actresses to shine, appearing to bring out the best in them. He knew enough of the arts to recognise true greatness.

She possessed it.

A waiter appeared, hovering at his table. ‘Another drink, Your Grace?’

Darius shook his head. He tossed back the last of his whisky and folded the list.

Tonight’s performance was about to start.

* * *

Calista stood in the wings and stared.

In the royal box to the left of the stage she spotted an unmistakable figure. Dark hair. Broad shoulders. Even in the light of the footlights she swore she could see the gleam of those dark, impenetrable eyes.

The Duke of Albury.

It simply made no sense. She couldn’t fathom it. What was he doing back in the Prince’s Theatre?

‘Calista!’ a stagehand hissed. ‘Calista! You’re going to miss your cue!’

‘What? Oh!’ As she rushed on to the stage she faltered momentarily in her line, but no one else in the cast appeared to notice.

She cast a sideways glance at the box.

It was him. There could be no doubt.

The duke had come to watch the play again.

* * *

‘Hello, Herbert.’

Darius’s cousin jumped nearly a foot high in the air, sending his top hat wobbling. ‘Darius!’

‘I don’t suppose I need to ask what you’re doing here.’

Herbert’s eyes darted away. ‘I, um...’

‘It’s all right,’ Darius said drily. ‘I spotted you inside the theatre. I know you’ve been watching the play. I saw it myself.’