Those Scandalous Ravenhursts

The Notorious Mr Hurst

Disrobed and Dishonored

The Piratical Miss Ravenhurst

Louise Allen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

The Notorious Mr Hurst

About the Author

Author Note

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Disrobed and Dishonored

Author Note

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

The Piratical Miss Ravenhurst

Author Note

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Afterword

Copyright

The Notorious Mr Hurst

Louise Allen

LOUISE ALLEN loves immersing herself in history. She finds landscapes and places evoke the past powerfully. Venice, Burgundy and the Greek islands are favourite destinations. Louise lives on the Norfolk coast and spends her spare time gardening, researching family history or travelling in search of inspiration. Visit her at louiseallenregency.co.uk, @LouiseRegency and janeaustenslondon.com

Author Note

Lady Maude Templeton believes in love, as I discovered during the course of THE SHOCKING LORD STANDON, when she refused to marry the hero on the grounds that she just knew the right man was out there waiting for her somewhere.

And then she found him and fell in love instantly with Mr Eden Hurst, who is not only resoundingly ineligible for the daughter of an earl, but as a man who most definitely does not believe in love.

Maude sets out to convince Eden not only that love exists but that she is the woman he needs in his life. It seems a hopeless task, but Maude can be quite as shocking as any of her Ravenhurst friends when she puts her mind to it and Eden Hurst soon finds that doing the right thing is harder than he can ever have imagined. If only he can work out what the right thing is…

Chapter One

February 1817

‘And so, my false love—I die!’ The maiden sank to the ground, a dagger in her bosom, her white arm outflung.

The audience went wild. They applauded, whistled, stamped and, those members of it who were not weeping into their handkerchiefs, leapt to their feet with cries of ‘More! More!’

The dark-haired lady in the expensive box close to the stage gripped the velvet-upholstered rim and held her breath. For the audience who had flocked to see the final performance of The Sicilian Seducer, or Innocence Betrayed, the tension was over and they could relax into their appreciation of the melodrama. For Lady Maude Templeton, the climax of the evening was about to occur and, she was determined, it would change her life for ever.

‘You would never guess it, but she must be forty if she’s a day,’ Lady Standon remarked, lowering her opera glass from a careful study of the corpse who was just being helped to her feet by her leading man.

‘One is given to understand that La Belle Marguerite never mentions anything so sordid as age, Jessica.’ Her husband turned from making an observation to Lord Pangbourne.

‘Fine figure of a woman,’ the earl grunted. He was still applauding enthusiastically. ‘Not surprising that she was such a sensation on the Continent.’

‘And so much of that figure on display,’ Jessica murmured to Maude, who broke her concentration on the shadowy wings long enough to smile at her friend’s sly remark. The loss of focus lasted only a moment. Tonight was the night, she knew it. With the excitement that surrounded a last night at the Unicorn she had her best opportunity to slip backstage. And once she was there, to make what she could of the situation.

Then her breath caught in her throat and her heart beat harder, just as it always did when she glimpsed him. Eden Hurst, proprietor of the Unicorn theatre, strode on to the stage and held up both hands for silence. And by some miracle—or sheer charisma—he got it, the tumult subsiding enough that his powerful voice could be heard.

‘My lords, ladies, gentlemen. We thank you. On behalf of Madame Marguerite and the Company of the Unicorn, I thank you. Tonight was the last performance of The Sicilian Seducer for this, our first full Season.’ He paused while exaggerated groans and shouts of ‘shame!’ resounded through the stalls and up into the gods. ‘But we are already looking forward to Her Precious Honour to open in six weeks’time and I can assure her many admirers that Madame Marguerite will take the leading role in this dramatic tale of love triumphant over adversity. Good night to you all and I hope to welcome you next week for our revival of that old favourite, How to Tease and How to Please, with the celebrated Mrs Furlow in the leading role.’

‘Damn good comedy that,’ Lord Pangbourne pronounced, getting to his feet. ‘I recall it when it first came out. In ’09, was it? Or the year after?’

Maude did not hear her father. Down below in the glare of the new gas lights stood the man she desired, the man she knew she could love, the man she had wanted ever since she had first seen him a year before.

Since then she had existed on the glimpses she had caught of him. In his theatre she sat imprisoned, in a box so close she could have almost reached down and touched him. On the rare occasions he had attended a social function where she had been present he had been frustratingly aloof from the unmarried ladies, disappearing into the card rooms to talk to male acquaintances or flirting with the fast young widows and matrons. And even she, bold as she was, could not hunt down a man to whom she had not been introduced and accost him. Not in the midst of a society ball and not a man of shady origins who had arrived in England trailing a tantalising reputation for ruthless business dealing and shocking amours.

And last Season he had closed the Unicorn for renovations and returned to the Continent for a tour with his leading lady only months after they had arrived in England.

Standing there, he dominated the stage by sheer presence. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an intense masculine elegance in his dark coat and tight pantaloons, yet somehow flamboyant and dramatic. Maude caught the sharp glitter of diamonds at his throat and from the heavy ring on his left hand and recognised that his clothes had been cut with an edge of exaggeration that would be out of place in a polite drawing room. He was a showman, demanding and receiving attention just as much as the most histrionic actor.

‘Maude.’ Jessica nudged her. ‘One of these evenings your papa is going to notice that you dream through the performances and only wake up when Mr Hurst is on stage.’

‘I don’t dream,’ she contradicted, finally getting to her feet as Eden Hurst walked off stage to loud applause. ‘I am watching and I am listening. I have to learn how this place works.’

She had never managed to speak to him. The only words he had spoken in her presence had been to a shopkeeper while she, the bright, lively, witty Lady Maude had stood in Mr Todmorton’s perfume shop, struck dumb by the sheer beauty of the man. But three days ago, thanks to an overheard conversation at Lady Robert’s otherwise dull reception, she had discovered that Mr Hurst had been making discreet approaches to potential investors. And that, she realised, gave her the perfect excuse.

Now she must have her wits about her as she followed her father and the Standons down to the main lobby of the Unicorn. Parties were gathering and chattering beneath the famous clock that hung from the neck of the one-horned beast charging out of the wall like a ship’s figurehead. As she had hoped, Jessica stopped to speak to a friend. Gareth, her husband, waited patiently beside her while Maude slid through the crowd to her father’s side.

‘Papa, Jessica invited me to drive home with her and to spend the night,’ she said as he clicked his fingers at the attendant for their cloaks. It was quite true, Jessica had done just that and Maude had thanked her nicely and explained that she thought her papa would expect her home tonight.

Which was also true, so very gratifyingly she had told no actual untruths. And she was, after all, a lady o f resource with money in her reticule who was perfectly capable of finding herself a hackney carriage. Eventually.

‘Very well, my dear.’ Lord Pangbourne craned to see the Standons in the crush. ‘I’ll see you at dinner tomorrow. Say all that is right to Lady Standon for me, won’t you? I can’t fight my way through this like you slender young things.’

‘Yes, Papa.’ Maude watched until he was outside and then slipped through the door to one side of the entrance. She was not certain where it went, other than backstage. But that was enough for her purposes.

‘Can I help you, miss?’ She was in a passageway, as brown and dingy as the lobby was brilliant and gilded. Maude dragged in a deep breath compounded of oil and dust, gas fumes, overcrowded hot people and greasepaint, and smiled brilliantly at the youth who had paused in front of her. His arms were full of hothouse flowers, an incongruous contrast to his shirtsleeves and baize apron.

‘Mr Hurst’s office, if you please.’

‘The Guv’nor, miss?’

‘Yes,’ Maude said firmly. ‘The Guv’nor. I have a proposition for him.’

Eden Hurst tugged his neckcloth loose from amidst the heavy ruffles of his shirt, flung himself into his great carved chair and put his feet up on his desk. Ten minutes of peace and quiet, he promised himself. Then back down the corridor to Madame’s room to flatter and reassure in the midst of enough blooms to fill a conservatory.

Why she needed reassurance after a reception like tonight, Heaven only knew, but he had sensed a petulance that must be soothed. Ever since she had reluctantly agreed to return to England after years on the Continent she had been on edge, more demanding, more insecure, and the return tour while the renovations were carried out had only made things worse.

Perhaps the light of the new gas lamps was unkind when her dresser finally creamed away the greasepaint. He would have the oil lamps on their stands brought back into her dressing room. Anything to keep the star of the Unicorn happy.

Feet still on the desk, he leaned forward and reached for his notebook to add oil lamps to the never-ending list of things to be done. His groping fingers nudged a pile of stiff cards, sending them to the floor. They lay face up, yesterday’s social obligations.

Eden dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling, oblivious to the cracks that created fantasy maps over its grey surface. Was it worth it, allowing himself to be lionised by Corwin and his vulgar wife? He shut his eyes, annoyed with himself for revisiting a decision that had already been made. He needed an investor if he was to continue to make the improvements the Unicorn needed to keep it in the forefront of London’s smaller theatres, and he needed a damned sight more cash than the gas lights had cost him if he were to finally persuade the owner to sell it to him.

Through his agents he had bought several small theatres around the country over the past two years as investments, leaving them in the hands of managers while he continued to tour Europe with Madame. Then had come word of the kind of theatre he had been dreaming of ever since he had stepped on to a stage, and he sold them all to raise the money to restore the Unicorn. It had meant coming to England and it had meant risking everything on a building that was not his own, but Eden Hurst had learned to trust his gut instincts in business and was prepared to be ruthless with himself, and with Madame, if necessary.

He could stomach Corwin, even Mrs Corwin in her purple toque, at a pinch. What was tightening his gut was the thought of the simpering Misses Corwin: Miss Calliope, Miss Calenthe and Miss Coraline. One of them was the price Corwin was going to ask for his investment, Eden was sure. He’d marry a Corwin daughter over his dead body and he’d been certain of managing the thing tactfully in the end. Certain—until he’d heard the girls giggling and plotting together in the overheated conservatory.

No time to think about that now. He lowered his feet back to the threadbare Turkey carpet, twitched his neckcloth into order and ran his hands through his over-long hair. Outside his office the corridor was deserted, with all the noise and the activity coming from the stage where they were striking the sets in one direction, and the Green Room where the actors were entertaining their friends and admirers in the other.

Eden took a deep breath and stopped. Gardenia was not a familiar scent in the utilitarian passage outside his office door. Nor was the rustle of silk skirts from the shadows expected. As he realised it, he saw her, an indistinct form in the alcove opposite. Young, slender—he could tell that from the way she moved, the glimpse of white skin at neck and breast.

Those accursed girls. He had thought himself safe for a day or two while they perfected their scheme to ensure that one of them was comprehensively compromised by him. But, no, here was the first of them, it was irrelevant which. If he pretended not to have seen her and went to the Green Room, she would be into his office, probably prepared to strip off for maximum effect when he returned, with or without a witness. And he was damned if he was going to stand here and shout for help in his own theatre, which seemed the only other option.

Or was it? Perhaps he could scare the living daylights out of her. Eden smiled grimly, took a long step forward and caught the half-seen figure by the shoulders. She came easily, with a little gasp, like a maid into her lover’s arms, he thought with habitual cynicism, just before he took her mouth. Hard.

She had been kissed before. At the age of twenty-five, and after several Seasons energetically avoiding becoming betrothed, Maude had flirted with sufficient young gentlemen and had dallied in enough drawing rooms to have experienced everything from gauche wet ineptitude, to boldly snatched kisses, to shyly gentle caresses.

But she had never been kissed by a man who knew what he was doing and had no inhibitions about doing it thoroughly. How he managed it she had no idea, but one minute she was hiding in a dark alcove, poised to step forward and introduce herself, and the next she was moulded against the long hard body of a male who was quite frankly and obviously aroused, whose lips were crushed to hers and whose tongue was taking full possession of her mouth.

For a moment she froze, passive with shock in his grip. Then her mind began to work and caught up with her body, already pliant in his arms. It was Eden Hurst who was kissing her. She had dreamt of this for months and now it was happening. Hazily she acknowledged that he had no clue who she was and that he also appeared to be thoroughly out of temper, but just now that did not matter.

Maude found her fingers were laced in his hair, that romantic mane of black that gave him such an exotic appearance. Her breasts were pressed to his chest so that the swell of her bosom was chaffed by the brocade weave of his waistcoat and against hers his heart was beating, disconcertingly out of stroke with her pulse. But she was only peripherally aware of those tantalising discomforts. Her entire world was focused on what he was doing to her mouth and the devilish skill with which he was doing it.

Should a kiss make the soft flesh of her inner thighs quiver and ache? Should the insolent thrust of his tongue send shafts of desire deep into her belly, setting going an intimate pulse that made her want to twine her legs around his and press herself hard against him?

He growled, a warning she did not heed, was incapable of taking, then his hands slid to cup her buttocks and he pulled her up against him so that the ridge of his erection pressed into the delta of her thighs. Now she knew what her body was searching for. Roughly he pushed her back to the hard wall, letting the movement rock them intimately until she was moaning in total surrender against his mouth.

And then, just when she would have gone to the floor with him, done anything if only his mouth had stayed on hers, he released her, all but one hand, and stepped back. He reached behind him to fling open the office door and the light spilled out across her face when he tugged her into its path.

‘Now let that be a lesson—hell and damnation,’ Eden Hurst said quietly, loosing her wrist. ‘You aren’t one of the Corwin girls.’

‘No, I am not.’ Thank God, I can still articulate. She reached out one hand to the wall beside her, unsure whether her legs would be as obedient as her voice. ‘I am Lady Maude Templeton, Mr Hurst.’

‘Then why the hell did you let me kiss you?’ he demanded with what she could only characterise as a total lack of reasonableness.

‘One, you took me by surprise; two, you are somewhat stronger than I am; three, you are very good at it,’ she said coolly. This was not the moment to cast herself into his arms and declare her undying love. Besotted she might be, but she had her pride. One of these days he was going to tell her he loved her, but he needed to find that out for himself.

‘Well, I thank you for that last,’ he said on a disconcerting choke of laughter. ‘You are not inclined to slap my face?’

Maude very much doubted that her legs would allow her to take the two steps necessary to achieve that. ‘No, I do not think so.’ It was so long since she had been close to him that now it did not seem there was enough air to breathe. Or else that kiss had dragged the air from her lungs. ‘Perhaps I should explain why I am here?’

‘You want a job, my lady? I need a costume mistress and a scene painter. Oh, yes, and a couple of handmaidens for the farce.’

He kept his face so straight that she could not decide whether he was totally literal or had a nasty sense of humour. ‘I doubt whether I would be suitable for any of those positions,’ she responded, deliberately matching his tone. ‘My sewing is poor, my painting worse and I would make a thoroughly heedless handmaiden. I have come to congratulate Madame Marguerite on her performance and to broach a matter of business with you, sir.’

‘Business?’ He studied her, expressionless. Maude was used to male admiration; this indifference piqued her, not unpleasantly. Her Mr Hurst was not in the common run of men. ‘Well, shall we start with Madame and then we can agree a more suitable time for a meeting tomorrow?’

Maude would have thought him quite unmoved by what had just happened if it were not for the tension that seemed to flow from him, fretting her aroused nerves as though he had dragged a fingernail along her skin.

‘You are without an escort, Lady Maude?’

‘Yes,’ she said, daring him with her eyes to make something of it. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to find me a cab later, Mr Hurst?’

‘You are a practical woman it would appear, ma’am. And one with strong nerves as well as—’ He broke off. Maude turned her head to follow his gaze. From the direction she had come there were soft footsteps and the sound of nervous giggling. ‘Hell.’ He caught her hand again and pulled her into the office, closing the door behind them.

‘Mr Hurst, I declare you appear quite hunted.’ Now she could see him clearly. The golden skin that always seemed lightly tanned, the dark brown eyes, the sensuous, sensual, mouth and the elegant, straight nose. She had been correct—those were diamonds in the pin at his throat and one old-fashioned cabochon stone in the barbarically heavy ring on his hand. And as he turned to face her, she saw another glinting in the lobe of his right ear. It should have looked effeminate, but it simply gave him the air of a pirate and she guessed that was quite deliberate.

‘Truer than you know, Lady Maude. Perhaps you would care to sit? I fear you are about to be the audience for a private performance of a farce.’ He gestured to a chair on one side of the desk and went to take the other, a great carved monstrosity of a throne with eagles on the back and lions’ heads on the arms

The door inched open. More giggles, muffled, then a girl came in, her head turned to speak to someone outside. ‘Oh Calenthe, I am so nervous!’

‘But why should you be, Miss Corwin?’ Hurst enquired in a voice like sugar soaked in aloes. ‘You are amongst friends here.’

The girl gave a shriek and dragged at the door to reveal her companion just behind it. Maude blinked at the sight of two thoroughly overdressed young women clinging together on the threshold.

‘Lady Maude, may I introduce Miss Corwin and Miss Calenthe Corwin to your notice? Ladies, this is Lady Maude Templeton. I fear I cannot offer you refreshment as Lady Maude and I are discussing business.’

Maude, who was beginning to get some idea what was going on, enquired, ‘No doubt your mama is waiting for you close by?’ Their faces were so easy to read it was almost laughable. ‘No? Well, in that case I will take you home in my hackney, for you most certainly should not be out alone at this hour. Perhaps you would be so kind as to obtain one, Mr Hurst. I am afraid I must forgo the meeting with Madame this evening, but I do feel that seeing these misguided young ladies safe home must take priority. Shall we say eleven tomorrow to continue our discussion?’ She knew she sounded about fifty, but her tone was certainly having a dampening effect on the girls.

‘Certainly, ma’am.’ He might not be a professional actor, but the manager of the Unicorn could dissimulate like a master. His face showed nothing but a slightly obsequious attention to Maude and a faint irritation directed at the two younger women, as though at the antics of a pair of badly trained puppies.

Maude swept out into the corridor, amazed to find her legs steady again. Who these two girls were she had no idea, other than that they were certainly not of the ton, but she had no way of knowing if they would gossip about her. It was imperative that she kept them on the defensive, more worried about their own position than speculating about what the daughter of an earl was doing unchaperoned in Mr Hurst’s office at eleven in the evening.

He led them through a maze of corridors and out into the night. Maude drew her veil down over her face and raised the hood of her cloak to shield her face from the crowd of gentlemen who were milling around the stage door, inside and out, while the stage door-keeper produced a hackney with a blast on his whistle. She allowed Mr Hurst to seat her in the vehicle before he stood back to allow the Misses Corwin to scramble in unaided. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Thank you, ma’am. Until eleven, then.’ He stopped to give the driver an address in the city, then turned away as the carriage rattled out into the late evening bustle of Long Acre.

Maude waited with interest to see what her two companions would say now they were alone with her. In the gloom of the carriage they fidgeted, whispered and eventually one of them blurted out, ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you, Lady Maude?’

‘What exactly do you not wish me to reveal?’ she enquired coolly, finding herself irrationally annoyed with the pair of them. Why she should feel so protective of Eden Hurst she had no idea. He was more than capable of looking after himself, if their encounter in the corridor was anything to go by. If he had pounced on one of these girls in that manner, she would have fled screaming, just as he intended, no doubt. They quite obviously had not got a tendre for him, either of them, so what on earth were they about, risking ruin like this?

‘That we were trying to…um, encourage Mr Hurst into making an offer,’ the shorter one ventured.

‘For which of you?’ Maude enquired, intrigued. Yes, he had known about this plot and had mistaken her in the gloom for one of these silly girls.

‘With any of us. Mama thinks he will, because he wants Papa to invest in his theatre, but we aren’t sure because he never takes any notice of us. We don’t understand it,’ she added naïvely, ‘because we are ever so well dowered.’

‘Perhaps Mr Hurst already has an attachment?’ Maude ventured, finding her irritation turning into something more like amusement until she realised that might very well be the case. She had no idea—Eden Hurst was a very private man.

‘Well, if he has, it isn’t anyone from amongst the merchant families. Papa would know,’ the taller sister offered confidently. ‘And he can’t marry anyone in society, because of being a bastard.’

That was a relief. Then Miss Corwin’s words sank in. ‘A…a what?’

‘Bastard. Although Mama says not to use that word and say love begotten, instead. But it doesn’t matter really, because his father was an Italian prince or something equally grand.’

That would explain his colouring, Maude thought hazily. Was Eden Hurst illegitimate? She had never heard a whisper, although it was not the sort of thing mentioned in front of unmarried ladies. Oh, Lord, if he was, that would be another obstacle to overcome. Trade was bad enough, the scandalous world of theatre even worse. Being the love child of an Italian prince was hardly going to make it any better. Papa was going to have palpitations, poor man, when he was finally presented with Eden Hurst as a son-in-law.

The hackney cab stopped. ‘We’re home.’

‘And how do you propose to get in?’ Maude enquired. They did not appear to be too worried by the prospect.

‘Through the service area.’ The girl hesitated on the carriage step. ‘Thank you, Lady Maude.’

‘Well, don’t do anything like this again. If I were you, I would not talk about this little adventure to anyone,’ she added repressively. ‘And please tell the driver to take me to Berkeley Square.’

Maude was deep in thought when the hackney came to a halt again. The door was stiff and the light from the flambeaux either side of the Standons’ house flickered wildly in the stiff breeze. She almost tripped getting down, then stood shivering while she fumbled in her reticule.

‘All right, m’lady, Mr Hurst paid,’ the man said, leaning round to slam the door shut.

‘Oh. How kind of him.’ Maude felt very tired all of a sudden. The shallow steps up to the front door seemed endless as she looked at them. Her hopes for the evening had been vague, beyond making contact with Eden Hurst, but she had not expected to be ruthlessly kissed and then find herself chaperoning two girls.

‘He’s come along to see you home,’ the man added over his shoulder as the horse moved off.

As she stared across the corner of the square she saw another hackney drawn up, a tall figure standing by its open door. He raised a hand in acknowledgement as he saw her looking at him, then climbed back in. Maude drew her cloak around her and ran up the steps to Jessica’s house, no longer tired.

Chapter Two

‘Lady Maude, your ladyship.’ Jordan, the Standon’s butler, managed not to appear shocked by her unannounced arrival on the doorstep at almost midnight without so much as a valise about her person.

‘Maude darling, I thought you said you couldn’t come tonight.’ Jessica put down her book, removed her stockinged feet from the fender and regarded her with mild surprise.

‘I was trying not to tell an untruth to anyone,’ Maude explained. ‘Thank you, Jordan, a cup of tea would be perfect. And one of the special ginger biscuits if Cook has made any,’ she added hopefully.

‘You intrigue me vastly.’ Jessica curled up in her chair and waved Maude towards the one opposite. ‘You have been exploring at the Unicorn, I surmise?’

‘How did you guess?’ Maude kicked off her slippers and tucked herself up in the depths of the chair.

‘Where else would you have slipped off to? Reveal all,’ she commanded, reminding Maude that her friend had once been a governess.

‘I told Papa that you had invited me and let him think I was coming back here with you directly after the performance. And I told you he was expecting me to go home with him, without actually saying that I did not intend to.’

‘There is a word for that sort of thing. Devious.’

‘I prefer to think of it as considerate. No one was worried.’

‘Go on—’ Jessica broke off as Jordan entered with a tray loaded with tea things, bread and butter, some tiny cakes and the famous ginger biscuits. ‘Thank you, Jordan, that will be all for tonight. His lordship will let himself in.’

Maude waited patiently while Jessica poured two cups of tea and then pounced on a biscuit. ‘I’m famished. Well, my intention was to visit Madame Marguerite in her dressing room and congratulate her upon her performance and while I was at it, just happen to encounter Mr Hurst and make an appointment to discuss a business matter.’

‘And?’ Jessica nibbled a triangle of bread and butter.

‘I, er…encountered Mr Hurst first.’

‘And he threw you out? You do look somewhat flustered.’

‘He kissed me. Ruthlessly, indecently. Without mercy. Until I almost lost the use of my legs. The man is a complete rake.’

‘Oh, my dear! How frightful, you must be devastated—’ Her face full of concern, Jessica put down her cup and began to scramble to her feet.

‘It was wonderful,’ Maude finished. It was beginning to feel unreal, like an incredible dream. Only, her mouth still felt swollen and all those alarmingly wonderful sensations kept rippling through her whenever she thought about Eden’s body pressed intimately to hers.

Jessica sat down again with a thump. ‘Is that all he did?’ she demanded. ‘Kiss you?’

‘Yes, although I don’t think all is quite the word. But he thought I was someone else. He was extremely courteous afterwards and sent me home in a hackney. He followed in another one to see I arrived safely,’ she added in an effort to reassure.

That a number of questions were fighting for priority in Jessica’s head was obvious from her expression. ‘Who did he think you were?’ she asked eventually.

‘One of the Misses Corwin, apparently. I’ve never heard of them, but their father is a merchant and he is about to invest in the Unicorn. The daughters are determined that one of them is going to marry Mr Hurst. Two of them arrived moments after he let me go, apparently hell-bent on getting the elder one compromised. I was able to foil that and escort them home, adding a warning about their behaviour while I was about it.’

‘The pot calling the kettle black?’ Jessica enquired.

‘Not at all.’ Maude frowned. She had been worrying about that as she drove back. ‘I have no intention of entrapping Eden Hurst,’ she reassured Jessica, and herself into the bargain. ‘Only of giving him every opportunity to fall in love with me.’

‘How can he resist?’ teased Jessica, relaxing somewhat.

‘Well, your darling Gareth could, very easily,’ Maude pointed out.

‘It was mutual, was it not? And I won’t lecture you, I promise. How can I, given what I got up to disentangling you and Gareth?’

‘You made a perfectly captivating loose woman,’ Maude said, deciding she could, after all her adventures, manage a third ginger biscuit. ‘Whereas I have no intention of doing anything more forward than making sure I am very much in Mr Hurst’s life from now on. Sooner or later he will come to realise he cannot exist without me.’

‘It did not strike him like a thunderbolt at your first encounter,’ Jessica pointed out. ‘I might have been heavily veiled at the time, but I could see quite clearly and I have never observed a less struck man in my life. I described him to Gareth as an icicle, but an iceberg would have been more accurate. And he appears to have survived kissing you without falling at your feet either,’ she added cruelly.

‘He is probably racked with desire, the more he thinks about it,’ Maude asserted. ‘Another cup of tea?’

They drank in silence, the plate of biscuits mysteriously diminishing until Jessica said, ‘You are sure, aren’t you, that it isn’t just his looks? I know I described him as an icicle, but he is also the most exotically beautiful man I have ever seen. It would not be at all surprising if you fell for that.’

‘You mean, am I being extremely superficial?’ Unoffended by the question, Maude brushed crumbs off her skirt and got up to place some more coals on the fire. ‘You forget, I have grown up surrounded by men of character. Dearest Papa, Gareth, to name but two. I could not possibly love or marry a man without intelligence, drive, fine qualities. Yes, I was attracted to Eden Hurst because of his looks. But it was also his presence, his strength.

‘And then the more I found out about him, the more I admired him. He has revived the Unicorn’s fortunes in mere months in the face of the Patent theatres’ opposition, created a vehicle in England for Madame Marguerite when she was known only by reputation. And everyone says he managed one of the most successful theatre companies on the Continent—and that cannot have been easy under the circumstances of the past years.’

‘How old is he?’ Jessica asked. ‘Thirty, at least, I would have thought.’

‘I do not know.’ Maude frowned into the hot centre of the fire. ‘I can’t find out anything like that about him, who his parents are, where he was born, when.’ She was not going to mention the rumour about his father. Time enough to cross that bridge when she had to.

‘You don’t think he and Madame are, er, involved…?’ Jessica asked tentatively.

‘Surely not?’ Maude stared back, aghast. That had never occurred to her. ‘She’s years older than he is, surely?’

‘Well, I have no doubt she’s a creature of unrestrained passions, if her acting is anything to go by, and he is a very handsome man. Tell me…’ Jessica leaned forward ‘…what was it like?’

Maude felt herself colouring up. ‘Amazing,’ she said finally. ‘I have been kissed before, but this was quite unlike anything else. Is it supposed to make you feel odd all over?’

‘The odder the better,’ her friend said with a grin, uncurling from the depths of the chair. ‘Time for bed, although I doubt you are going to get a wink of sleep after that.’

‘Don’t you think so?’ Maude took the proffered candle. ‘I was rather hoping I was going to dream.’

Eden waved the tired dresser out of the door and closed it behind him. ‘I have called your carriage, Madame.’

‘Call me Marguerite, darling. How many times do I have to ask you?’ The actress fluffed at her hair petulantly.

‘It does not feel right. Here, let me help you with your cloak.’ He settled it around her shoulders as she stood, enveloping them both in a cloud of Attar of Roses, drowning the faint remembered fragrance of gardenias in his nostrils.

‘Foolish boy.’ She twisted round, her head on one side, and smiled. Always the coquette, always practising her charms. ‘Are they all gone?’

She meant the swarm of admirers who had infested the Green Room and queued, petulant if they were not given instant admission, at the stage door. ‘All gone. I got rid of them at last.’

‘They adore me.’ It was a statement, but underneath he heard the need for reassurance. Always the need for reassurance.

‘They worship you,’ Eden agreed with a smile, his watchful dark eyes cataloguing the faint betraying lines beside her eyes, the slackening of the skin over the exquisite jaw line, the harshness of the dark hair tint. He knew he must begin to edge her towards the more mature roles. And how was that to be achieved without her throwing a tantrum to rival Mount Etna? He had witnessed the eruption in 1810, and the fiery image came to mind with increasing frequency whenever Madame was thwarted.

There had been a time, when she had first taken him from the palazzo, before he had learned to harness his emotions and not to entertain foolish fantasies about love, when he had hated her. Now, he thought he understood her, had come to accept her total lack of empathy for anyone else and to admire her talent, her sheer determination. But when he was tired it was still an act of conscious will to humour her.

‘You must be exhausted after that performance,’ he suggested, edging her towards the door. ‘So much emotion.’

She lifted a daintily manicured hand and patted his cheek. ‘Darling, you are cold.’

‘I have been out, a small matter of business to take care of.’ And if Lady Maude had not been there he would still have been dealing with it. The consequences of Corwin discovering that two of his daughters had been found, unchaperoned, in his office late at night would be the most almighty row and the loss of his most promising investor.

Eden smiled grimly, then caught sight of his saturnine expression in the big glass. Why the devil would a woman want to marry him in any case? Used to scrutinising the faces of actors at close quarters, all he could read in his own features was cold, hard ruthlessness wedded to the theatrical tricks of a mountebank—the earring, the hair. His profession and his birth made him ineligible to all but the merchant classes and below, and his character was surely something a woman would take on only in return for his money.

Which brought him back neatly to Corwin. ‘What are you scowling about, darling?’ Marguerite allowed herself to be guided out and towards the Green Room. The square chamber with its green velvet curtains, Turkey rug and motley collection of chairs, sofas and side tables was both the common room for the company and the reception salon after a performance.

Now, in the wake of Marguerite’s admirers’ departure, the room resembled the aftermath of a drunken party. Bottles were upended into ice buckets, flowers were strewn everywhere, empty glasses stood around and most of the company were sitting or reclining in various combinations of stage costume, street clothes and undress.

They struggled to their feet, or, in the case of George Peterson, the heavy who was already well in his cups, vaguely upright, as their leading lady swept through. ‘Good night, darlings,’ she trilled, blowing a kiss to the three walking gentlemen, the bit-part players, who swept her bows as she went.

Eden noted in passing that Miss Harriet Golding, the ingénue, was sitting almost on the lap of Will Merrick, the juvenile lead. That could spell trouble—Merrick was living with Miss Susan Poole, the lively soubrette who had apparently already left. He could well do without a love triangle in the middle of the cast, especially with a visiting leading lady next week. Madame would sail blithely through any amount of emotional turmoil provided it was not her own emotions at stake. Mrs Furlow could well find it most disagreeable. He dug out the notebook and added Merrick/Golding/Poole below the note on oil lamps. If this was serious, then Miss Golding would have to go; ingénues were two a penny.

‘I am utterly drained,’ Marguerite announced, draping herself across the gold plush of her carriage seats. ‘Drained. I have given my all for a month.’

‘Well, you have two weeks when you need only rest and get up your lines for the next part, then rehearsals,’ Eden soothed, the words forming themselves without any conscious work on his part. Then some demon prompted him to add, ‘And I have an idea for the piece after that.’

‘And what is that to be?’ she demanded.

Eden knew he had been hedging round breaking this to her, seeking the right moment. Oh well, now, with no audience of dresser and sycophants to fan her tantrums, might be as good a time as any. ‘Lady Macbeth.’

‘Lady Macbeth? Lady Macbeth?’ Her voice rose alarmingly. ‘That Scottish hag? A mad woman? A tragedy? Are you insane?’ She subsided. Eden braced himself; she was not finished yet. ‘In any case, we cannot perform it. The Patent theatres have the monopoly on legitimate drama.’ Her voice dripped scorn.

‘Not if we introduce music, have a ballet in the background in some of the scenes. I have been working on it and we can scrape past the licence issues.’

‘Why should we want to?’ she demanded. Even in the dim light he could see the alarming rise and fall of her bosom.

‘You do not want to do it?’ Eden injected amazement into his voice. ‘One of the great Shakespearian roles? The woman who is so seductive, so powerful that she can drive a great king to murder? Imagine the dagger scene. Every man in the theatre would take the knife from your hands and do the act if you commanded it. The sleepwalking scene—you, magnificent yet so feminine in your night rail…’ He fell silent. She was already rapt, eyes closed, lost in her imagination.

Eden offered up silent thanks to whichever minor deity looked after theatre managers and sat back against the soft squabs. Finally, he could contemplate those hectic few moments in the corridor with Maude Templeton in his arms.

Thinking about it had the inevitable physical effect. He crossed his legs and tried to pin down the nagging feeling he had seen her somewhere before. It would not come and concentrating was virtually impossible while the memory of the feel and the scent and the yielding of her filled his brain and agitated his body.

What business had she with him? he wondered. She was quick witted as well as beautiful, with a sense of humour that matched his own, he rather suspected, recalling her stated reasons for allowing him to kiss her. He did not believe for a moment that she had been subdued by his superior strength. Which left the flattering probability that she had enjoyed the experience.

And the not very flattering recollection that a second later she had been all business. Not that there was any legitimate business an unmarried lady, with the emphasis on lady, could possibly be transacting with him, which was puzzling. Eden found himself intrigued, aroused and curious, a combination of emotions that he could not recall experiencing before.

He indulged himself with the memory of her slender waist, spanned by his hands, of the slither of silk under his palms, the erotic hint of tight corseting as his thumbs had brushed the underside of her breast…

‘I need a new carriage.’

Back to reality. ‘This one is only eighteen months old, Madame. I bought it in Paris, you recall. I cannot afford a new one.’

‘Why not? You are a rich man, Eden.’

‘Yes. And very little of that is liquid just now. I invested heavily in the gas lights, as you know, to say nothing of all the rest of the renovations, the costumes, the props. Then the foreign tour while the work was being done was not all profit.’ And just maintaining Madame Marguerite in gowns and millinery was a serious drain. His investments stayed where they were until the time was ripe for each to be liquidated. The bedrock of his hard-won fortune was not to be frittered to sate Madame’s urge for novelty.

‘Oh, fiddle! Cash some gilts or whatever those things are called. Or sell out of those tiresome Funds or something.’ He could hear the pout in her voice. ‘My public image is important, darling. I need to cut a dash.’

‘You would do that from the back of a coal-heaver’s cart,’ he said drily. ‘I am not touching the investments until I can get the owner of the Unicorn to talk to me about selling it. I need to invest in the place, but I am not spending any more now until it is mine.’

‘Darling, I thought you were getting money from that vulgar little cit.’

‘Corwin? Yes, I hope to. I just have to be sure I can keep him from interfering in the running as part of the deal.’ Never mind the detail that Corwin would insist on making Eden his son-in-law.

‘You are so stuffy, Eden.’ She subsided into a sulk, leaving him once more free to contemplate Lady Maude and the inconvenient fact that, if he was going to have any hope of sleep tonight, a visit to Mrs Cornwallis’s hospitable establishment was probably the simplest way of achieving it. Surely all he needed was the scent of another woman’s skin, the heat of another smiling mouth under his, the skills of a professional, to rout the memory of innocently sensual beauty.

‘Are you coming in?’ They were already at the Henrietta Street house, pretty as a jewel box with the white porcelain flowers filling the window boxes and the shiny green front door flanked by clipped evergreens.

‘No, Madame.’ Despite the footman, he helped her down himself, up the steps to the front door, dropping a dutiful salute on her cheek. ‘Sleep well.’

‘Blackstone Mews,’ he said to the coachman, climbing back in. Mrs Cornwallis would have some new girls by now. It was six weeks since he had last called.

Two hours later Eden lay back on the purple silk covers, his eyes closed. If he kept them closed, the girl probably wouldn’t talk until he was ready to get up and go. He had already forgotten her name.

A fingertip trailed down his chest, circled his navel, drifted hopefully lower. His imagination made it Lady Maude’s finger, with predictable results.

‘Ooh!’ she said with admiration that was not all professional. ‘Why not stay all night?’

‘I never sleep here.’ Her voice chased away the image in his mind. Eyes open, Eden rolled off the bed and reached for his breeches.

‘Oh.’ Another woman who could manage an audible pout. ‘But you’ll ask for me next time?’

‘No. I never ask for the same girl twice.’ No entanglements, no expectations. No messy emotions on her part. Certainly no night spent with her in his arms, waking up off guard and vulnerable.

‘But I thought you liked me…’ And she had that wheedling tone off to perfection too. He kept his back to the bed as he fastened his shirt. Madame, cajoling over her millinery bill, actresses fluttering their eyelashes as they tried to persuade him to give them a role, those simpering Corwin girls in pursuit of a husband. Did every female in existence, he thought irritably, have to coax like that? It occurred to him that Lady Maude had been admirably direct. No simpering, pouting or wheedling from her. What, he wondered, did she want from him?

‘Good night.’ Eden did not look back as he went out of the door.

Chapter Three

Eden Hurst was pacing like one of the caged lions at the Tower. No, Maude silently corrected herself. Those animals were confined behind bars. However menacing they looked, with the muscles bunching under their sleek hides and the flash of white fangs, they were impotent.

This man was free. This man made things happen, just as she had sensed he would. He turned from checking a ledger someone had handed him and Maude moved back between the flats, stumbling slightly over the grooves they ran in. The paperwork dismissed, Hurst strode to the front of the stage and began a highly technical discussion with someone invisible in the pit about the placing of the instrumental players to achieve a certain required effect.

He had discarded his coat and rolled up his sleeves. There was no sign of last night’s exaggerated tailoring, unless one counted the very whiteness of the linen shirt that made his skin even more golden in contrast and the expensive cut of his pantaloons and waistcoat. There were no diamonds in his ear today, just the ring to give emphasis when he swept a hand down in a gesture to reinforce his orders.

Maude found her eyes fixed on the point where his waistcoat had been laced at the small of his back, emphasising the balance between broad shoulders and narrow waist, slim hips and long legs.

Now he put his fists on his hips and leaned back to stare up into the gods to where a hand was shouting a query. The line of his throat was that of a Greek statue, she thought.

‘Extraordinarily beautiful animal, isn’t he?’ a dispassionate male voice asked, just by her ear.

Maude felt herself colouring: she could hardly deny to herself how she had been looking at him. ‘Mr Hurst appears very fit,’ she said repressively, turning to find one of the walking gentlemen at her elbow.

‘I’m not interested in him that way, you understand,’ the man continued, still watching his employer through narrowed eyes. Maude tried to appear sophisticated and unshocked at the suggestion he might be interested. ‘I just wish I could move like that. I watch and watch, but I’m damned if I can get it. New, are you? Nice gown, by the way. My name’s Tom Gates, walking gentleman and hopeful juvenile lead if that clot Merrick upsets the apple cart.’

Maude regarded him with some interest. He looked about twenty-one, but from a distance, with make-up, she could see he could easily pass for a lad of seventeen. ‘Thank you, it is one of my favourite gowns. I’m sure you’d make a very good juvenile lead. Is Mr Merrick prone to trouble, then?’

‘He will be if he doesn’t stop lifting La Golding’s skirts,’ Tom confided frankly. ‘Either Susan Poole will run him through with a hat pin or the guv’nor will have his balls for making trouble in the cast. What’s your line, then? Too classy to be a walking lady, I’d have said.’

‘I am not an actress, I’m an investor,’ Maude explained, watching the blood drain from the young man’s face as he realised his faux pas. ‘I am early for a business meeting with Mr Hurst.’

‘Oh. My. God.’ He smote his forehead dramatically. ‘Should I go and pack my bags now, do you think? Let me see, have I remembered everything I said that you’ll be complaining about?’

‘Lady Maude. Gates? Be so good as to explain what will cause her ladyship to complain to me.’ Eden Hurst was standing right behind them, his expression one of polite interest. Maude thought that it was just how a shark would look before sampling one’s leg.

‘Good morning, Mr Hurst. There is absolutely nothing to be concerned over. I arrived somewhat early and Mr Gates has been so helpful in explaining things, but he seems conscience-stricken because he forgot to address me by my title. I do not regard it at all.’ She shared a sweet smile between both men. Gates shot her a look of adoring thanks, Mr Hurst merely raised one eyebrow in a manner calculated to infuriate anyone else who could not manage the same trick.

‘I’ll get your coat, Guv’nor.’ Gates shot across the stage like a retriever and returned with the garment, brushing it assiduously. His complexion had returned to normal.

‘Thank you. Have refreshments sent to my office.’ Hurst took her arm. ‘Alone again, Lady Maude?’

‘My maid is waiting in the Green Room.’ Maude had left Anna there, wide-eyed in anticipation of witnessing some of the scandalous behaviour she was convinced must go on in such a wicked place. So far, Maude imagined she had been seriously disappointed. The language might be colourful, but everyone was focused totally on their work. Mr Hurst ran a tight ship.

‘I will leave the door open, then.’ He showed her in, gesturing to the chair she had sat in the night before.

‘Why? Do you fear you may be unable to restrain your animal impulses again, Mr Hurst?’ Maude sat and placed a folder of papers on the desk.

Behind her the door shut with a sharp click. She pursed her lips to restrain the smile; it was part of her strategy to keep Eden Hurst on edge and she did appear to be undermining that control, just a little. ‘I was not failing, Lady Maude, and I was not acting upon impulse. I fully intended to do what I did. I always do.’

‘Excellent. So do I. And I prefer to keep my personal business confidential, so do, please, leave the door shut.’

She waited, hands folded demurely in her lap while he circled the desk and sat down on his sorcerer’s throne. He steepled his fingers, elbows on the carved arms, and regarded her in silence. The light from the window was behind him, no doubt intentionally. Maude, who had trained in the hard school of the Almack’s patronesses, waited, outwardly unruffled. Inwardly her stomach was executing acrobatics that would have impressed at Astley’s Amphitheatre.

‘In what way may I help you, Lady Maude?’

She felt she had scored a point by not babbling to fill the silence. She wanted to babble. She wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to climb into that big chair and curl up against him. ‘By moving my chair to the side of your desk, Mr Hurst. I dislike holding a conversation with someone whose face I cannot see.’

Without a word he got to his feet, came round the desk again, waited for her to rise and then moved the chair. ‘Here?’ How many people challenged him on his own ground? Would it impress him or merely irritate?

‘Excellent, thank you.’ Unasked, he moved her papers too, then shifted his chair so he could face her.

‘I wish to invest in the Unicorn, Mr Hurst.’

‘Indeed.’ Damn him, he might at least look faintly surprised. How many unmarried ladies did he have coming in offering him money? ‘And what makes you think I require investors, ma’am?’

‘I have heard some gossip to that effect and I should imagine all theatres need funds. And Miss Corwin tells me her father is thinking of investing with you.’ His mouth twisted wryly for a second, whether at the thought of Miss Corwin or of her father, Maude was not certain.

‘And what does your father think of this, might I ask?’

‘I have not discussed it with him as yet. Mr Hurst, I am five and twenty and I have had control of my own money for some time.’ An exaggeration—it was only since last year, in fact, when Papa had recognised that withholding control of it was not going to force her into the marriage with Gareth Morant, Lord Standon.

A gallant man would have exclaimed in surprise at her claiming such advanced years. It surprised Maude herself sometimes to realise how old she was and to acknowledge that most people would consider her almost on the shelf. Eden Hurst made no reference to her age at all. Now, was that galling or refreshing?

‘I have always been interested in the theatre, so this seemed an obvious thing to do. I am not intending to overcommit myself, I realise this is a risky business, however well run.’ That earned her an inclination of his head. Still no smile. The shark appeared to be circling, perhaps puzzled about what kind of prey had swum into its territory.

‘You have been a leading light in country-house amateur theatricals, no doubt, Lady Maude?’ The way he said her name made her swallow hard, every time. It was difficult to define just why. Something about the deep voice, perhaps, the touch of mockery she sensed behind the respectful address. Or was it just that she was so close and they were, at long last, talking?

‘I cannot act for toffee,’ she admitted with a smile. ‘As my family and friends always point out to me. No, my strengths lie in writing and producing dramas.’

‘Well, you are not writing or producing any in my theatre, let us be quite clear about that.’ So, the first sign of hackles rising. She was reminded of prints she had seen of Italian Renaissance princes, hard, handsome, elegant men staring out at the watcher in their pride and their power. Or perhaps, as those dark eyes narrowed and the sensual line of his mouth thinned, he was not an earthly prince, but one of the Devil’s henchmen.

Yes, the Unicorn was very much Eden Hurst’s theatre. ‘I do not wish to, not here—I am quite clear about the differences between amateur and professional theatre. I propose investing a sum of money. Our respective men of business can assess it as a percentage of the value of the business and I will thereafter take the appropriate share of the profits.’

‘Or losses.’

‘Or losses,’ she agreed equably. He had lowered his hands and now each curved over the lion masks at the end of the chair arms. He had big hands, she noticed, with long, elegant fingers. The well-kept nails contrasted with bruises and cuts on the backs of his hands, presumably from handling scenery. The contrast between strength and sensitivity was somehow arousing. Those were the fingers that had held her helpless with such negligent ease. Maude dragged her eyes away.

‘So you do allow a man of business to act for you?’

‘Of course. I believe in employing experts as I need them. Well? Does my proposal interest you?’

He did not answer her question directly. ‘And what involvement will you require?’

‘To see the books. To visit behind the scenes and watch rehearsals. To discuss policy and to put forward my ideas. But hardly to direct policy—you are the owner of the Unicorn, after all.’

There was a tap at the door and it swung open to reveal a large tea tray dwarfing the young woman who carried it. ‘I’ve raided Madame’s best tea, Guv’nor. Tom Gates said to make an effort.’

‘Thank you, Millie. I am sure you have.’ He waited until the door closed again. ‘Perhaps you would care to pour, Lady Maude.’

He waited while Maude busied herself with the tea things, then settled back, his cup unregarded on the desk. ‘How much, exactly, are you proposing to invest?’

She had given it a great deal of thought. Enough to make him take her seriously and to give her an entrée to the theatre and its management. Enough to give her every excuse to enter into his professional life on a regular basis. But not so much she would seem foolish or rash. Maude flipped open her folder and slid a paper across the table. ‘That much.’

There was silence for a long moment. Eden Hurst picked up the sheet and tapped it thoughtfully on the desk. ‘A not insignificant sum.’

‘I am a wealthy woman, Mr Hurst. That is the maximum that will be available. I do not regard this as a frivolous amusement to be pouring money into, you understand.’

‘I do. And you calculated your investment on your understanding of the value of a theatre I own.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I am afraid your research was not thorough enough, Lady Maude. I am not the owner of the Unicorn.’

‘You are not?’ He watched with interest the effect surprise had upon her. Those delicately arched brows shot up, a faint groove appeared between them. Then he saw her begin to think and speculate, the big brown eyes alive with intelligence. ‘It belongs to Madame Marguerite?’

‘No. I have to confess I have no idea who owns it. I deal with their agents, I pay the rent, I observe the lease conditions and I am met with a very polite refusal when I ask to meet their principal.’

‘How very mysterious.’ Another expression, one of lively curiosity, flitted across her face. That lovely visage was as easy to read as a book, but only, he suspected, when she wanted it to be. He was convinced that last night, after he had kissed her, her feelings were far from being reflected in her expression. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if she used that openness as a weapon to make him underestimate her.

Her dazzling smile took him by surprise. ‘Well, then, Mr Hurst, we must buy it.’

‘What? The Unicorn? We must?’

‘Can you afford it alone?’ This was frank speaking indeed. Eden contemplated snubbing her by loftily remarking that he had no intention of discussing his financial position with her, then caught himself. He was enjoying this meeting. There was no one he could discuss business with, not on equal terms. Madame merely wanted to know if there was sufficient money to maintain her lifestyle; his banker and his solicitor expected only to take orders and to offer advice when asked.

The small circle of men he admitted to anything approaching friendship were either too interested in his business for comfort if they were from the merchant class or completely uninterested if they were gentlemen. He had become used to taking all decisions alone, arguing problems out with himself.

And now here was, of all things, a young lady. Bright-eyed, confident, interested and quite unabashed at being alone with a man, speaking of things ladies were simply not expected to understand. And, miracle of miracles, she did not simper, she did not wheedle and she most certainly did not try to cajole.

Eden smiled. Lady Maude blushed, which was unexpected. Hastily he resumed a straight face. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was flirting with her. Not after last night. ‘No,’ he responded frankly. ‘I cannot afford to buy it alone just now. At least, not without committing myself more than is prudent.’

‘And are you always prudent, Mr Hurst?’ There was a laugh lurking in her eyes. Was she thinking about last night? He wished he was not, it was too damn uncomfortable.

‘With money, yes,’ he admitted and the answering smile made the corner of her eyes crinkle. Yes, she had been thinking about last night. So why had she blushed earlier?

Eden was used, without vanity, to women reacting strongly to his looks, although he saw to it that they never got close enough to him emotionally to react to the man behind that handsome face. His appearance was nothing to be proud of, in his opinion. He owed his looks to the father who had refused to have anything to do with him. As for the rest, he took care of his body, exercised hard and spent more than he needed on his clothes.

But Lady Maude was not flirting. She had reacted to his kiss with a mixture of innocence and appreciation that was arousing, yet her response afterwards had been that of an assured young matron and now… Now he had no idea how to read her. Which ought to be infuriating, not intriguing.

He realised that he must have been silent, thinking, for over a minute. Unperturbed, Lady Maude had opened her portfolio and was scribbling energetically. When she saw he was back with her she smiled, the uncomplicated smile of a friend. ‘I will need to rework these figures, for I am sure my banker will tell me I should not invest so much if you do not own the Unicorn. It is very vexing—you must press for information about the owner.’

‘I have tried; it is not going to be forthcoming.’

She sent him a look that said clearly that he had not exerted himself sufficiently in the matter. She was wrong. Ever since he was fourteen he had wanted his own theatre. Not a little provincial playhouse, but a significant, fashionable, demanding theatre to satisfy the longing that had entered him the first time he had set foot on a stage, the sense that he had come home. He had found the Unicorn and had known that this was love and that this was the only passion he could, or would, ever trust. But he could not speak of that to a near-stranger, or try and justify an emotion he only half-understood himself.

‘Lady Maude, have you considered what Lord Pangbourne is going to say when he knows what you are doing?’

‘Of course. He said I was old enough to make my own mistakes with my own money.’ She hesitated, her eyes sliding away from his. ‘Some time ago…he wanted me to marry someone; he had wanted it for years, in fact. Neither the gentleman nor I wished for it and things became—’ she broke off, searching for a word ‘—complicated, before Papa understood how things were. He has always been somewhat unconventional in his attitude to women’s education and freedoms. What happened has made him somewhat indulgent in many ways.’

So, not only was she intelligent, but she was also strong enough to stand up to parental pressure over her marriage. And now, at twenty-five, the Marriage Mart would consider her on the shelf, or almost so. Or was the daughter of an earl, wealthy in her own right, ever on the shelf? Perhaps she had grounds for her confidence.

‘He may be indulgent about how you invest your money, but he is not going to be so if he knows you are alone with me in my office, is he?’

That appeared to amuse her. ‘Do you imagine he will call you out, Mr Hurst?’

‘I imagine he will want to horsewhip me. I am not, after all, a gentleman, and therefore would not merit a challenge.’

Maude looked at him, her eyes wide and steady. ‘Yes, you are, in every way that counts. Or I would not be here.’

Her certainty knocked the breath out of him. He was accepted, to a point, in society as an intelligent, personable exotic. He could imagine the reaction if he so much as flirted with one of the young ladies on the Marriage Mart. And they, he was quite certain, would have had him pointed out by their mamas as completely ineligible, if not dangerous. Yet Lady Maude appeared to have no such scruples.

‘I will speak to my man of business tomorrow and amend my figures,’ she continued. ‘Would it be convenient to call in a few days’ time?’

‘I should not—’ He meant to say, I should not be doing business with you, but it came out differently. ‘I should not expect you to come here. Could I not meet you at his office? It would be safer, surely?’

‘For whom?’ she enquired, suddenly very much Lady Maude and not the unconventional young woman conducting her own negotiations. ‘I feel quite safe. Are you frightened of something?’

Eden drew in a deep breath, ignored the interestingly unsafe suggestions his body was making. ‘For myself, I fear nothing and nobody, Lady Maude.’ He let a chill harden his voice. He could not act, had never wanted to, but he had grown up surrounded by good actors and learned a trick or two. When he wanted to, he could intimidate and he found that useful.

Her lashes swept down to hide her thoughts, and he thought he had shaken her. Then she lifted her eyes and murmured, ‘Good. I will hold you to that.’ She closed her portfolio and got to her feet, smiling with ladylike composure as he rose to open the door. ‘I will send a note and come back here next week to discuss how to proceed.’

‘You will attend the first night of our new play?’

‘On Monday? I am looking forward to it. You will be putting on a ballet and a farce for the intervening nights, I assume?’

‘Yes. Trifling things, but I do not care to have the theatre dark.’ He looked down at her and knew he had to take control of this situation, whatever it was. ‘Lady Maude. Unless you tell Lord Pangbourne of your intentions, I must decline to discuss this matter further with you.’

For a moment he thought she would admit defeat and did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed. ‘You make terms, Mr Hurst?’ she asked, her face unreadable.

‘That is what businessmen do.’

She stood there, one hand in its tight kid glove resting on the door frame, quite clearly thinking. ‘Mr Hurst, do you want me to take my money and go away?’

‘It would be safer for your reputation and it would certainly make life simpler,’ he said honestly.

‘That is not what I asked you,’ she said, managing to look down her nose at him, a considerable feat considering their respective heights.

‘No,’ Eden said, surprising himself. ‘No, I do not want you to go away. After all, I have so little in my life to worry about as it is. You will doubtless be the grit in my oyster.’ She glared in response to his sarcasm. To his horror he found himself thinking about kissing her face back into smiles. ‘But I mean it. Tell Lord Pangbourne before this goes any further. I want your word on it.’

‘My word, Mr Hurst?’ Her chin came up as she gathered her skirts in one hand. ‘You have it, sir. Good day to you.’

Chapter Four

Maude cupped her chin in her palm and regarded her father thoughtfully. For once they were both at the breakfast table at the same time, he having declared that he was not going to the House that day and she deciding it would be good tactics to forgo her usual early morning ride in Hyde Park in order to speak to him about the Unicorn.

She had spent an uncomfortable night fearing Eden’s scruples had overturned all her plans right at the outset.

‘Papa?’ He seemed to be in a good mood. His perusal of the Morning Post and The Times had provoked only half a dozen exclamations of wrath and he had not yet screwed up any of his morning correspondence and lobbed it at the fireplace.

‘Yes, my dear?’ He folded his paper and laid it beside the plate. ‘When your mother addressed me in that tone, she usually had some fixed purpose in mind.’

‘Well, and so I have. You recall saying I might have the control of my money unless I wanted to do something foolish with it and you would rely on Mr Benson to warn you if I did appear to be doing just that?’

‘I believe I said something of that nature,’ he responded, wary. ‘Rainbow, that will be all. I will ring if I need anything.’

The butler bowed, nodded at his subordinates to follow him and left them alone.

‘Tell me. I am braced for the worst.’ Lord Pangbourne folded his hands over his stomach.

‘You know the Unicorn theatre?’

‘I should do, since you rent a box there and we have visited regularly since it reopened.’

‘You will have noticed that it is one of the best of the non-Patent theatres and that the manager, Mr Hurst, has been improving it.’

‘The gas lighting, yes.’

‘I wish to invest in it.’ She sat back and tried to look calm, as though she had asked if she should buy government bonds, or some rental property in a good area. Her fingers hurt; she found they were knotted into her napkin. Maude frowned at them and made herself relax.

‘In gas lighting? I believe that could well be the coming thing.’ He lifted the newspaper. ‘There are some companies advertising here, in fact—’

‘In the Unicorn, Papa.’ Time for complete frankness. Almost. ‘I wish to invest a sum in the theatre and to take an interest in its overall policy. I find it most interesting.’

‘The theatre? But, Maude, that is not at all a respectable world, not on that side of the curtain. It is inhabited by the demi-monde and frequented by gentlemen who are not there because of their interest in the dramatic arts—I am sure I need not say more. For a woman to be connected with the stage is to court ruin. It is quite out of the question.’

‘I do not want to appear on the stage, Papa,’ Maude said. ‘That would be a scandal indeed—think how bad my acting is! And I most certainly do not want to be behind the scenes when the gentlemen come calling in the evening. I can quite see what a risk that would be.’

He was frowning at her, bless him. He did try so hard to let her be herself. Maude knew she was indulged, far beyond what most single young women of her background were. And she knew too that her position meant that what would be condemned as outrageously fast if done by, say, the daughter of an obscure baronet, could be carried off with dash by the daughter of an earl.

‘What about your charity work?’ Lord Pangbourne asked. ‘Are Lady Belinda’s wounded soldiers no longer absorbing your time?’

‘Of course, I have a committee meeting this afternoon. But it is hardly a full-time occupation, Papa.’

‘And the Season will soon be in full swing,’ he pointed out.

‘Yes. And neither is that all consuming, at least, not during the day. I like to be busy, Papa, and to use my brain.’

‘I would like it if you just stood still long enough for a nice young man to catch you,’ Lord Pangbourne said with a sigh. ‘I suppose you want me to say that Benson should call on this manager chap—Hurst, is it?—and suggest a basis for your investment.’

‘Yes, Mr Hurst. But I have already called upon him and proposed my scheme.’

His lordship choked on his coffee and put his cup down with enough force to rattle the saucer. ‘Called on him? My God, Maude, of all the shocking—’

‘I took my maid, Papa, and called at the theatre in the morning, not at his home, naturally.’ Maude knew she couldn’t act, but she felt fairly confident in her expression of outrage.

‘It is still most unwise. The man is not a gentleman. And the theatre of all places!’

‘Well, his behaviour was most gentleman-like,’ she asserted. ‘I felt quite comfortable. I was served tea and waited upon by a maid.’ That was doubtless stretching the description of the lass who was probably the general dogsbody. ‘And everyone there was behaving most decorously.’ If one disregarded Mr Gates’s indiscretions, of course. ‘Would you meet Mr Hurst and judge for yourself? I thought perhaps we could invite him to our box in the interval on Monday. You do want to see the revival of How to Tease and How to Please, don’t you, Papa?’

It would allow Papa to judge Eden face to face and it would reassure Eden that she had spoken to her father. He would not take kindly to being summoned to the house to be inspected, she was sure of that, but on his home ground he might be less prickly. She would order champagne with the refreshments and think carefully about who to invite to join the party for the evening. No one who would be shocked by a man wearing a diamond ear stud, that was for sure.

The committee for Lady Dereham’s Charity for the Employment of Soldiers Disabled by the Late War—or Bel’s Battalion, as her husband irreverently referred to it—was somewhat diminished in numbers that afternoon. Bel’s cousin Elinor was on the Continent with Theo Ravenhurst, her new husband; Elinor’s mother Lady James Ravenhurst was studying Romanesque churches and the Grand Duchess Eva de Maubourg, a cousin by marriage, was at home in Maubourg and not expected in London until early March.

Jessica had been welcomed into the committee on her marriage. It was a positive coven of Ravenhurst cousins, her husband Gareth Morant, Earl of Standon—himself a cousin—had joked. Maude would have become a Ravenhurst if her father’s intention to marry her to Gareth had come to pass and she had known most of the family since she was a child.

The Reverend Mr Make peace, Treasurer, was already seated in Bel’s dining room, fussily arranging his papers on the long mahogany table while assuring Lady Wallace, a lady of a certain age and indefatigable energies, that the money she had extracted from her long-suffering husband had been safely banked. Mr Climpson, Lady Wallace’s solicitor, and legal adviser to the charity, bowed punctiliously to Maude and pulled out a chair for her while Jessica waved gaily from the other side of the room where she was talking to Bel.

The minutes read, and matters arising dealt with, they sat through Mr Makepeace’s interminable report. Maude surfaced from a daydream involving Eden Hurst and herself alone in her box at the Unicorn to discover that the charity was in excellent financial health.

‘In fact, our only problem at the moment appears to be finding other sources of employment for the men on our books,’ Jessica remarked. ‘We have bought three inns now, which employ all those suited for the various roles those offer.’ She scanned the lists in front of her. ‘We have placed sixteen men with various craftsmen and a further twelve in domestic service or stables, but there are still fifteen unsuited and, as you know, more come to us every week, despite the war being over now for almost two years.’

‘What about theatres?’ Maude asked, the idea coming straight out of her daydream. ‘Stagehands, door-keepers, scene painters, carpenters—there must be many types of work the men would be suitable for.’

‘Excellent,’ Lady Wallace applauded, shushing Mr Makepeace, who started to say something about immorality. ‘What a clever idea, Lady Maude.’

‘But however will we find out what is available?’ Jessica asked, all wide-eyed innocence. ‘Who can we possibly ask?’

‘It just so happens,’ Maude said, attempting to kick her friend under the table and painfully finding the table leg instead, ‘I know someone who might be able to help.’

‘I was going to ask you and Gareth to join me in my box on Monday,’ she said to Jessica as the others departed. ‘And then you could have met Mr Hurst because he is taking champagne with Papa and me during the interval.’ At least, she hoped he was; she hadn’t written to him yet. ‘But if you are going to be so unkind as to tease me, I will ask Bel and Ashe instead.’

‘Ask us what?’ Bel came back into the room and eased herself down on a chair. ‘Oh, my feet! I have been playing with Annabelle all morning and I am quite worn out with that meeting on top of it.’

‘How exhausting can playing with a baby be?’ Maude demanded. ‘She’s tiny.’ A doting expression came over Bel’s face, so she added hastily, ‘Anyway, will you and Ashe be able to come to the theatre with us on Monday?’

‘We’d love to. Your box at the Unicorn? Do you mind if we bring another gentleman with us? Ashe has a navy friend coming to spend a few nights.’ She looked up, obviously making connections. ‘Is that where you think you may be able to find employment for some of the men?’

‘Possibly. I am intending to invest in the theatre and Papa wishes to meet the manager before he will support me.’

‘I should think he does.’ Bel narrowed her eyes. ‘You are up to something, Maude Templeton.’

‘As I said, investing. Of course, it is somewhat unconventional,’ Maude said airily.

‘And of course Mr Hurst of the Unicorn is very good looking,’ Jessica added slyly. ‘Gareth and I are definitely coming on Monday. I’m not missing this for anything.’

‘No!’ Bel sat up straighter, weariness forgotten. ‘Hurst? But surely I have heard of him.’ She bit the tip of her finger in thought. ‘Eden Hurst? But he is notorious for his affaires with married ladies! Ashe warned me about him, although I gather he is hardly predatory; he just stands around looking handsome and they throw themselves at him as they did at Byron. But Maude, even if he is a lay preacher in his spare time, he still has to be utterly ineligible, you wicked woman. Darling, I don’t think this is sensible; he’s received, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be ruined by associating with him.’

‘I wish to invest in his company,’ Maude protested, flustered that Bel had immediately leapt to the conclusion that she wanted Eden Hurst. As for his reputation—well, she refused to think about that just now.

But Bel had seen Jessica’s face and Jessica knew only too well what she wanted. ‘Oh, very well, Jessica will tease until you know it all anyway. I intend making Eden Hurst fall in love with me. He is intelligent, charismatic, dynamic and beautiful. When I talk to him it is not like any other conversation I have with anyone. I was right when I sensed he was meant for me; when I am with him I feel more alive than you can imagine. There is so much passion in him, so tightly controlled. Passion for the theatre, I mean,’ she clarified as Jessica rolled her eyes.

‘He just doesn’t know yet that I am the woman for him. I intend to give him every opportunity to realise it.’

‘Goodness,’ Bel said weakly. ‘And then what? You cannot possibly marry him. Think of his reputation.’

‘If he marries me, he will not be having affaires. And why should he not marry me?’ Maude demanded. ‘He is very well off. And his father, I believe, was an Italian prince.’

‘But was he married to Mr Hurst’s mother? That’s the point,’ Jessica queried. ‘Hurst is not exactly a Italian name, now is it?’

‘Er…no.’ She turned in a swirl of skirts and plumped down in a chair. ‘It is no use the pair of you looking at me like that. You don’t have to tell me it is going to be difficult. I want to marry an illegitimate, half-Italian theatre owner with a reputation. He is quite a rich illegitimate theatre owner,’ she added hopefully.

‘Maude,’ Bel said gently. ‘Money is not going to be the issue. Breeding is.’

‘I have enough breeding for both of us, and he is a gentleman, even if society won’t see it,’ Maude declared, beginning to be alarmed despite herself. She had expected Jessica and Bel to support her.

‘Yes, but what does he think about this?’

‘Nothing at all, as yet, other than I am very unconventionally intending to invest with him. I have been cool and businesslike. I intend to grow upon him.’

Jessica snorted inelegantly. ‘Maude, I am your friend, so I can say frankly that you are a very beautiful woman. The man has kissed you—passionately, by all accounts. And you are waiting to grow on him? I should imagine your financial assets are the last thing on his mind at the moment.’

‘He has done what?’ Bel’s face was a picture.

‘Kissed me. By accident. He thought I was someone else,’ Maude explained patiently. ‘It was wonderful, but he appears more than capable of restraining his animal passions when I am alone with him, believe me.’

‘Oh. That’s not very encouraging,’ Bel said, then caught herself. ‘I mean, what a good thing. To be fair, according to his reputation he does not appear to be dangerous to virgins.’

Maude determinedly ignored contemplating who else Eden Hurst might be dangerous to. ‘Well, I am not concerned. I want him to fall in love with me, gradually. Not lust after me. That, too, of course, in time, but I am sure desire clouds men’s brains. Love first, then lust.’

‘It doesn’t work that way round,’ Bel observed, smiling. Jessica nodded in agreement as she continued, ‘I’m afraid the poor weak things work on the basis that anything female between the ages of sixteen and sixty is looked at with the eye of lust. One’s finer features, such as your mind or your skill at the harp, or your lovely nature, have to grow upon them.’

‘Oh.’ Somewhat daunted, Maude regarded her two friends. ‘I wanted him to be so passionately in love with me that he would disregard the difference in our positions.’

‘Not if he has the gentlemanly instincts you say he has,’ Jessica pointed out with depressing logic. ‘If he loved you, then he would sacrifice himself by refusing to see you any more. As Bel said, he does seem to restrict himself to married women, so he has some scruples.’

‘And anyway,’ Bel added, ‘it isn’t what he thinks about your respective positions, it is what society thinks.’

Maude fell silent, wrestling with the conundrum. The only possible solution appeared to be to become his lover, then hope he fell in love and realised that, having hopelessly compromised her, he must marry her. But what if he did not fall in love and felt he had to offer anyway?

‘This is 1817,’ she said, raising her chin and meeting their sympathetic looks with determination. ‘Things are changing, men with wealth and intelligence are breaking into society.’

‘Merchant bankers and nabobs, maybe,’ Jessica said doubtfully. ‘But the theatre is simply not respectable. Not for marriage.’

‘In that case,’ Maude declared, getting to her feet, ‘the Unicorn is going to become the first respectable theatre in the country.’

‘The evening post, sir.’ Eden’s butler proffered the laden salver. ‘Dinner will be served in thirty minutes, sir.’

‘Thank you.’ Eden took the pile of letters and began to flick through them. He was dining at home, alone, for the first time in weeks and finding it hard to relax. His brain was still working on too many levels. There were the remaining issues with the staging for How to Tease, there were the tactics to persuade Madame to take the role of Lady Macbeth and, if she did, the problem of producing a version that would not bring down the wrath of the Patent theatres and the Lord Chamberlain for performing ‘legitimate’ drama without a licence.

Ways of improving the scene shifting were beginning to form at the back of his mind, there was the situation between Golding, Merrick and Poole to resolve and decisions about investments to make.

Investments. He tossed the letters down on to his desk unopened. They were not normally a problem. His instructions to his broker were straightforward enough, he simply had to decide on one or two points and send a letter to the man. No, it was Lady Maude Templeton and her harebrained desire to invest in the Unicorn that was baffling him. And Eden Hurst did not like being baffled. Challenged, yes—he enjoyed a good fight. But not baffled by a brown-eyed lady with a pointed chin, a cool manner and a staggering disregard for convention.

He wanted to make love to her. Oh, yes, he most definitely wanted that. His imagination had no trouble conjuring up the image of her naked on his big bed upstairs, that thick hair tumbling around her shoulders, her hands gripping his shoulders as he sank into the tight wet heat of her. But he also, oddly, wanted to get to know her. Understand her, not simply discover why she had come up with this madcap scheme. And why should he want to do that?

Eden gave himself a brisk mental shake and returned to his post. Bills, letters from aspiring players, the opening scenes of a play written in odd green ink… He really should get a secretary for all this.

One plain white wrapper of fine quality paper, sealed with a crest pressed into the dark blue wax; that looked more interesting. He cracked the seal and spread out the single sheet.

Lord Pangbourne requests the pleasure of Mr Hurst’s company for refreshments during the second interval at the Unicorn on Monday next.

‘My God, she has told him.’ Eden stared at the invitation, reluctant admiration stirring. No sign of a horsewhip, not yet at any rate. Perhaps the earl was as unconventional as his daughter, or perhaps he thought to show her just how unsuitable a person Eden was for her to associate with by putting him into a social situation.

That was the logical answer. And in order to remove the puzzle of Lady Maude from his life, all he had to do was to turn up and act as Lord Pangbourne would expect. Eden toyed with the combination of clothing and manner that would make him appear louche, dangerous and entirely impossible.

His on-stage style was already established; he just needed to develop that to the point of caricature. He had seen enough old-school actor-managers to be able to assemble the worst characteristics of all of them. And then even the most indulgent father would take fright and bundle his daughter off out of harm’s way, leaving Eden to manage his theatre in tranquillity.

He picked up the paper and as he did so the faint scent of gardenias wafted to his nostrils. So, this firm black hand was not that of the earl or his secretary. Lady Maude herself had penned it. Eden smiled thinly. Was her father even aware he was going to have a visitor to his box on Monday night?

Chapter Five

‘It is fortunate that the private boxes at the Unicorn are spacious, for this one seems very full of large men tonight,’ Jessica remarked to Maude on Monday evening as the Derehams entered with their guest. Lord Pangbourne, with Gareth at his side, was greeting them, giving the friends the opportunity to study As he’s naval acquaintance.

‘Why not fall for him?’ Jessica whispered. ‘He looks so distinguished in that uniform and he is very good looking and not too old either. Not more than thirty, do you think? A younger son, of course, but excellent connections. Your father would be delighted.’

‘I have no interest in other men, as you very well know,’ Maude hissed back, too tense to enjoy being teased. The officer was tall and rangy in his dark blue uniform, his hair close cropped, his eyes, as he turned to be introduced to the two young women, a deep and attractive blue against weather-tanned skin.

‘Lady Standon, Maude, this is Captain Warnham. My lord—Lady Standon, my daughter Lady Maude.’

Greetings exchanged, the captain settled his long frame between Maude and Jessica. ‘It is a long time since I have been inside an English theatre,’ he commented, looking around with interest. From the boxes opposite came the flash of light on lenses as opera glasses were raised to scrutinise comings and goings. It would be all round the ton before long that a handsome naval officer was newly in town.

‘You have been at sea for many months?’ Maude enquired, fanning herself. The theatre was crowded and the heat rising from the gas lamps added to that generated by the crowd and her own anxiety.

‘Three months in the South Atlantic, ma’am. I am back for some weeks before sailing for Jamaica on another mission.’

‘The West Indies? How fascinating, I have always wanted to go to those islands.’ Maude, her twitching nerves over Eden momentarily forgotten, leaned closer. ‘They always sound so romantic and exotic.’

Captain Warnham smiled. ‘They have their charms, I am sure, but they also have slavery, hurricanes, tropical disease and pirates.’

‘And sunshine and blue seas and parrots and waving palm trees,’ Maude said wistfully, thinking of the drizzle that affected London.

‘My husband and Lady Belinda have a cousin in Jamaica, do you not, Bel?’ Jessica raised her voice to catch Bel’s attention.

‘Jamaica? Yes, Clemence Ravenhurst. We are expecting her father to bring her over to England this summer to stay so she can have an English come-out next Season. I expect your ships will pass in mid-Atlantic, Captain.’

They began to chat, Bel and Gareth explaining what they knew about their youngest uncle, a highly successful West Indies merchant.

Now he is in trade, Maude thought resentfully. The youngest son of a duke and no one thinks the worse of him for it. But, of course, Lord Clement Ravenhurst was a very successful man and did not soil his own hands with the details of his luxury goods business. Presumably wealth and birth wiped out the stain of trade, if you had sufficient of both.

‘What a pity he will not be at home when you are there, Captain Warnham,’ Bel concluded. ‘We would have given you letters of introduction.’

The orchestra began to file into the pit and tune up, earning catcalls and jeers for the cacophony from the common folk up in the one-shilling gallery. The noise gradually subsided back to the usual hubbub and then the lights were dimmed and the curtain rose on the first piece of the evening, a short farcical item featuring the company heavy as a strict father, thwarted at every turn by the ingenious antics of his daughter’s suitors.

‘I have every sympathy with the fellow,’ Lord Pangbourne remarked as the furious father chased a young man over a balcony while, behind his back, another rake took advantage and snatched a kiss from the daughter. Maude recognised Tom Gates, the ambitious walking man, who whisked out of sight behind a convenient curtain in the nick of time.

‘It is an ingenious piece,’ Captain Warnham agreed, laughing at the business between the cast, the maid changing clothes with her mistress, while the two young men dressed as footmen and the baffled father searched frantically for his daughter. In a few minutes the happy couple escaped down a rope ladder, the remaining suitor consoled himself with the maid and the curtain came down on appreciative applause.

There was a short interval before the next piece, a ballet. Maude reviewed her preparations for the main interval: canapés, champagne, two small tables to be brought in and the seats rearranged. But who to place where?

She wanted her father to appreciate Eden’s strong points, not be distracted by long hair or diamond ear studs or over-emphatic tailoring. Perhaps best not to place him next to the clean-cut Lord Warnham in his dress uniform. Between Bel and Jessica then…

‘You are muttering,’ Jessica said.

‘I want you and Bel to sit either side of Mr Hurst,’ Maude whispered back. ‘I don’t want him sitting next to Captain Warnham and making Papa think of haircuts.’

‘I think the length of his hair is the least of your problems.’

One step at a time, Maude told herself, sitting through the ballet in such a state of abstraction that she would have been hard pressed to say whether there had been dancers or circus horses on stage if questioned afterwards.

Eden’s note in response to the invitation had arrived, punctiliously prompt and formal. But would he really come?

The waiter came in with the refreshments and, on his heels, a tall figure, dark against the brightness of the open doorway.

‘Standon, my dear fellow, would you—?’ Lord Pangbourne broke off in confusion, realising that the man he thought he was addressing was still seated to his left. The figure moved, the light fell across his face and Maude let out a long, inaudible sigh. Eden.

Her father got to his feet, ponderous and, for all his formal good manners, wary. ‘Mr Hurst?’

‘My lord.’ He came in, as the waiter closed the door behind him, and inclined his head to his host.

‘Allow me to make you known to Lady Dereham, Lady Standon, my daughter Lady Maude—’

Papa is pretending we have not met, Maude realised, returning the bow with slight curtsy, while her father completed the introductions and waved Eden to the chair by his side.

And then she realised what was different about him. Gone was the exotic theatre manager, gone too was the working man in his shirtsleeves, and in their place was a perfectly conventional gentleman in well-cut evening formality, a modest ruffle on his white shirt, the dull sheen of garnet satin on his waistcoat and just a hint of sparkle in the strange old ring, his only piece of jewellery. Even his hair had been ruthlessly pomaded and brushed into a fashionable style that distracted the eye from its length.

He is making an effort, she thought, astonished. It had never occurred to her that Eden Hurst might go out of his way to impress her father. Was it because he needed the money, or because he did not want to lose her as…as what? An investor? That was all she could be to him at the moment, surely?

Lord Pangbourne, nobody’s fool, even though he cultivated an appearance of bluff and bluster, had apparently realised that he could hardly explain to a boxful of guests, one of whom was a virtual stranger, that he had invited Mr Hurst there to interview him as a potential business partner for his daughter. He had also, while introductions had been made, managed things so that the men were all sitting to one side of the box and Maude was safely trapped between the other two ladies.

She realised, with sinking heart, that Bel and Jessica had not exaggerated the unconventionality of what she was doing. Gareth and Ashe were regarding Eden with expressions of politely neutrality, but she knew them both too well to be deceived. They were watchful and suspicious and, she feared, disapproving.

‘Good of you to join us,’ her father remarked, pouring champagne. ‘I’m very interested in this new gas lighting you have here. Thinking of installing it myself. What do you think?’

‘I would not put it in my own home, not just yet.’ Eden took the glass, but did not drink. Close to the naval officer’s tanned skin his colouring seemed less exotic. He looked and sounded just like the rest of them, yet he was the focus of more than polite attention. ‘There is an odour, and it is dangerous without proper ventilation. But, in a year or two, I think it will replace oil everywhere.’

Captain Warnham, for whom this was apparently the first sight of gas used inside, joined in the conversation with a remark about the gas lights installed on Westminster Bridge in 1813 and all four men were soon deep into the technicalities.

Maude rolled her eyes at her friends, but Bel smiled and nodded encouragement. And, yes, superficially it was a success. They could have been any group of gentlemen engrossed in discussion, but she sensed relief all round at such a neutral topic that could distance the men from the ladies.

Eden, she realised, had muted his forceful character. He deferred to the older man, held his own with the others, yet it was as though he had turned down the wick on the lamp of his personality.

Clever, Maude thought. He is adapting himself to his company, blending in. She met his eyes across the table. His expression hardly changed, yet she sensed rueful amusement. He knew exactly what he was doing, but he did not seem entirely happy that he was doing it. And he sensed the raised hackles of the other men.

‘We are neglecting the ladies,’ he remarked, bringing all eyes to where his gaze was resting, her face.

‘But I am fascinated by gas lighting,’ she said sweetly, all wide-eyed feminine attentiveness. His lips were definitely quirking now. It was infectious. She bit the inside of her lip to stop herself smiling back. ‘Still, we do not have that much time before the curtain rises again. Will you not tell us about the next piece? My father saw it the last time it was produced in London.’

‘In 1810 at Covent Garden, my lord? We have had to adapt it here, of course, because of the licence, add a short ballet, and some songs, hence our choice of Mrs Furlow in the lead; she has just the voice for it. Still, it is very much the same comedy you will recall from before.’ He uses his voice like an actor, Nell thought, listening to how he spoke, not what he said. It was a deep and flexible voice, shaded with colour. He seemed to have it as much under his control as his face, betraying only what he wanted to show.

Her father was relaxing now; she saw his shoulders shake as he recounted some piece of amusing business from the production he remembered.

The conversation moved on while she was brooding. Gareth must have asked Captain Warnham about his new ship. ‘Do you welcome another commission so far from home?’

‘I am a career officer, I go where I am ordered and may do most good, but in any case I could not turn down the opportunity to make war on pirates. They are everything I loathe.’

‘But are there any left?’ Maude asked. ‘Enough to be a problem?’

‘Not so many now, we have them under control in many areas. But those that remain are the worst of them. And like rats they know we almost have them cornered and that makes them the more vicious. They used to take prisoners for ransom; now they cut their throats and throw them overboard.’

The party fell silent, chilled, Maude sensed, not so much by the horror of what he was describing, but the controlled anger with which he said it.

Bel, the more experienced hostess, picked up the thread of the conversation after a heartbeat had passed and moved them on to safer ground. ‘I love to read the shipping news in the daily papers,’ she remarked. ‘It is so fascinating to see where they have come from to reach us, bearing our luxuries all that way.’

All those luxuries, Maude thought, unfurling her Chinese fan and looking at it with new eyes, brought over huge distances at such risk. She looked up and found Eden was still watching her and was visited by the odd idea that he knew what she was thinking. Then the imagined look of understanding was gone and he rose to his feet.

‘You will excuse me, my lords, ladies. The curtain rises soon.’ He bowed and was gone, his champagne untouched, leaving the crowded box feeling somehow empty.

‘What a pleasant man,’ Bel remarked, carefully not looking in Maude’s direction. ‘Not at all what I would have expected of a theatre proprietor.’

‘Indeed not,’ Jessica added. ‘One can only think that the theatre is becoming so much more respectable these days.’

‘Superficially, perhaps. But it is scarcely eight years since the riots over the changes at Covent Garden,’ Gareth countered. ‘Nor can one call that sort of thing respectable.’ He nodded towards the box opposite where a party of bucks were becoming very familiar indeed with three young women whose manners and clothing clearly proclaimed them to be of the demi-monde. Gareth appeared quite unconscious of the dagger-looks his wife was darting in his direction.

‘And matters will be laxer on the Continent, I have no doubt,’ Ashe added, his eyes resting on the door as though he could still see Eden.

‘Oh, look,’ said Maude with bright desperation, ‘Here come the string players.’ Across from her, Lord Pangbourne appeared sunk in thought.

‘What did you think, Papa?’ Maude ventured as the carriage clattered over the wet cobbles on its way back to Mount Street.

‘Excellent production. In my opinion, adding the songs helped it. It was a lot livelier than I remembered.’

‘Not the play, Papa, although I am pleased you enjoyed it. Mr Hurst.’

‘Surprising chap. Not what I expected.’ Lord Pangbourne fell silent.

‘And?’

‘And I need to sleep on it.’ He sighed gustily. ‘Confound it, Maude, I know I promised you more freedom, but I don’t know what your mother would say if she were here.’

‘Yes, probably,’ Maude ventured. ‘She was very unconventional, was she not, Papa?’

‘Very fast, you mean,’ he said, but she could hear he was smiling. ‘Your mama, my dear, was a handful. And so are you. I don’t like refusing you anything, Maude; I promised your mother I would never make you feel as she did as a girl—caged. But I don’t want to see you hurt too.’

‘Hurt?’ She swallowed hard. He realised her feelings were involved?

‘By any kind of scandal. You can ride out a lot in your position, but that’s an uncommon man you’d be dealing with.’ He certainly is… ‘I’ll sleep on it,’ he pronounced. And with that she knew she would have to be satisfied.

It was not until she was sitting up in bed an hour later that what he had said about her mother sank in. I don’t want to see you hurt too. Mama had been hurt? But by what? Or whom?

Breakfast was not a good time to ask questions about the past, Maude decided, pouring coffee and schooling herself to patience. It would take three cups and the first scan of The Times before she could expect anything from her father.

‘Well,’ he said, pushing back his chair at length and fixing her with a disconcertingly direct look. ‘I was impressed by that Hurst fellow, despite myself. You may invest in that theatre, to the limit that Benson advises, and not a penny more. You will not go backstage after four in the afternoon and you will always, always, go there with a chaperon. He might be a good imitation of a gentleman, but he’s young, he’s ruthless and he’s unconventional. A chaperon at all times—is that clear, Maude? I see no reason to be telling all and sundry about this involvement of yours either.’

‘Yes, Papa.’ Oh, yes, Papa! ‘Thank you. I do believe this will be a worthwhile investment.’

‘It will be if it makes you happy, my dear. Just be prudent, that is all I ask.’

Prudent. That was what Eden declared himself to be, with money at least. Men seemed to set great store by prudence. Maude’s lips curved. Now she had to teach him to be imprudent with his heart. This morning she would write and tell him she had her father’s approval, make an appointment to call with Mr Benson.

Chapter Six

Papa had not been speaking lightly when he had insisted upon a chaperon, Maude thought, torn between amusement and annoyance. Anna, her Sunday best hat squarely on top of her curly mop of hair, was seated in one corner of Eden Hurst’s office, an expression of painful intensity on her face.

As they had alighted from the closed carriage—the one without the crest on the door, Maude had noticed—the maid had assured her, ‘I’ll stick like glue, never you fear, my lady.’

‘Like glue?’ Maude paused on the step up to the stage door and stared at the girl.

‘His lordship said so. He told me he was relying upon me to maintain the proprieties.’ Anna nodded earnestly, her face pink with combined delight at having been spoken to so and alarm at her responsibilities.

‘Indeed.’ Thoughtful, Maude walked in and smiled at the door-keeper. ‘Mr Hurst is expecting me. There will be a gentleman as well.’

The man consulted his ledger. ‘Mr Benson, ma’am? Came in five minutes ago. I’ll take you through, ma’am, if you’ll just wait a minute while I get the boy to watch the door.’ Maude shook her head.

‘No, it is quite all right, I know the way, Mr—?’

‘Doggett, ma’am.’

‘Mr Doggett. This is my maid, Anna—you will probably be seeing quite a lot of us from now on.’ The man knuckled his forehead and grinned, revealing several gaps in his teeth, as they walked past.

‘The stage door-keeper is an important man backstage,’ Maude explained as they walked along the corridor to the Green Room. This passageway had been painted green up to the dado rail, then cream above with prints of theatrical subjects hung on the walls, no doubt in acknowledgement of the class of visitors to the Green Room. ‘You will need to speak to Doggett when you want to call the carriage, or if you need to go out on an errand for me. He keeps an eye on things and makes sure no riffraff come in.’

‘Yes, my lady.’ Anna nodded solemnly. Maude hoped she was absorbing the idea that it would be all right to leave Maude from time to time. It was going to be impossible to establish any sort of relationship with Eden Hurst with the maid always at her side.

‘You’ll be able to reassure his lordship about how well run and respectable things are here,’ Maude continued chattily.

‘Oh, yes, my lady. I’ll do that.’ So, she was expecting to report back.

Bless him, Papa was no fool, however indulgent he might be, Maude thought, half her mind on the proposals Mr Benson was outlining, half on her tactics for dealing with Anna.

Eden Hurst was silent, listening. His head was bent over his hands clasped on the desk, his eyes apparently fixed on the gold tooling around the edge of the green leather top.

Benson put down his pen and sat back, too experienced to prolong his presentation.

‘Reduce the return by one percent and I will consider it,’ Eden said at last, looking up, his eyes clashing with hers, not the attorney’s.

‘By one quarter of one percent,’ Maude said promptly.

The dark eyes looked black; there was no softening tilt of the lips or warmth in his voice as he responded, ‘Three quarters of one percent.’

‘Half.’ She felt as though she had been running, the breath was tight in her chest and it was an effort to keep her voice cool and steady. This was, somehow, not about the money.

She was meticulous in keeping all hint of feminine charm out of her voice, her expression. When she was buying supplies for the charity or coaxing donations from patrons she would use whatever pretty wiles worked—wide-eyed admiration, a hint of chagrin, a touch of flirtation. But with this man she sensed they would not impress and he would think less of her for it.

‘I will meet you halfway,’ she added.

‘Will you indeed, Lady Maude?’

‘But no further.’ Beside her Benson shifted, uneasy. She did not turn her eyes from Eden Hurst’s face. It was like trying to outstare ice. Then slowly, subtly, she was aware of heat and realised she was blushing and that those cold, dark eyes were warming, smiling, although the rest of his face was impassive. There was no air left in her lungs now, but she was not going to give in, she was not…

Anna coughed, Benson put his pen down and the spell was broken. Which of them looked away, Maude had no idea, but Eden was on his feet, his hand extended across the wide desk. ‘Come, then,’ he said. ‘Halfway.’

No man had ever offered her his hand to seal an agreement before. It was not done. A gentleman told her what he would do and she took his word for it. A tradesman agreed a price and bowed her from his premises. Men shook hands on deals with other men. Some instinct made her pull off her glove as she stood and took his hand. It was warm and dry and she could feel calluses on the palm as it closed around her fingers, firm, positive, but careful not to squeeze hard as it enveloped them.

A lady allowed her gloved hand to remain passive in a man’s for a few seconds while he bowed respectfully and then released her, or placed her fingertips on his forearm so he could escort her. A lady did not grasp a man’s hand in hers and return pressure with her naked fingers as she was doing now. He must be able to feel her pulse thudding, she was certain.

Mr Benson cleared his throat, her hand was released and they sat down as though nothing had happened. She had finalised a business arrangement—why did she feel almost as disorientated as she had when he kissed her?

‘I will amend the documents now.’ The attorney produced a travelling inkwell and pen and began to alter the documents before him. Maude sat silent while the nib scratched over the paper, occupying herself with removing her other glove and tucking them both into her reticule.

‘There.’ Mr Benson finished, pushed one set across the desk to each of them and handed his own pen to Maude. ‘If you will read them through and sign, then exchange copies.’

Maude Augusta Edith Templeton, Maude wrote in her strong flowing hand. It was not a ladylike signature, her governess had complained, trying vainly to make her produce something smaller and altogether less assertive. She initialled the other pages as she had been taught and handed them to Eden, taking his in return.

Eden Francesco Tancredi Hurst, it said in writing equally as black and considerably more forceful. Maude signed below it, the sudden image of a marriage register flashing through her mind. ‘Francesco Tancredi?’ she said before she remembered the rumour about his father. It must be true.

‘Augusta Edith?’ he retorted.

‘Great-aunts.’ He did not respond with any explanation of his two very Italian names.

‘I will call at the bank and arrange for the transfer of funds.’ Mr Benson was on his feet, pushing his papers together. ‘May I take you up, Lady Maude?’

‘Thank you, no. I have my carriage.’

He bowed over her hand before clapping on his hat. ‘My lady. Mr Hurst, I bid you good day.’

Eden stood while she sat down again. ‘Would you like to see around behind the scenes now?’

‘Yes, please. But first—’ But first she wanted to speak to him alone and there was the small matter of one attentive lady’s maid sitting like a watchdog in the corner. ‘I would love a cup of tea.’ Eden reached for the bell. ‘Anna can go and find that little maid—Millie, wasn’t it? Run along and ask Doggett at the stage door where to find her, Anna—and no gossiping with anyone else, mind.’

Trained obedience had the maid on her feet and halfway out of the door before she realised the conflict in her orders. ‘But, my lady, Lord Pangbourne said—’

‘And you are doing very well, Anna,’ Maude praised. ‘I will be sure to tell him so.’

‘Yes, my lady.’ Beaming, she hurried out, closing the door behind her.

‘So, your father has set a watchdog to guard you? Not a very fierce one.’ He strolled round the desk and hitched one hip on the edge, looking down at her.

‘No, she is not, although she is very serious about it. I wanted to say thank you for Monday night.’

He did not pretend to misunderstand her. ‘The counterfeit English gentleman?’

‘The perfectly genuine one,’ she retorted.

‘Oh, yes?’ He smiled down at her, the first time she had seen him really smile. His teeth were very white, very even and, like the rest of him, looked as though they would bite. Hard. ‘You expected the earring, or worse, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Maude admitted. ‘Actually, I rather like it, but it might have raised eyebrows.’

‘I will confess I was very tempted to go completely to the other extreme and give you my version of the old-school actor-manager.’

‘Why didn’t you?’ she asked, intrigued.

‘Because, upon reflection, I found I did not want to scandalise your father to the point where he forbade you to interfere with my theatre. You are my grit, remember? I expect us to produce pearls.’

He was being deliberately provocative. Interfere, indeed! She refused to rise to it, let alone react to being compared to a piece of grit. ‘Describe how you would have turned into the old-school actor-manager,’ she said instead.

‘A shirt with enough ruffles to make you a ballgown, very tight evening breeches and a wasp-waisted tail coat with exaggerated satin lapels.’ He sketched the clothes over his body with his hands. ‘I would have raided Madame’s dressing room for a large diamond ear drop and her curling tongs.’ He twirled a lock of shoulder-length hair between his fingers. ‘A touch of lamp black to line my eyes and the oil, of course.’

‘The oil?’

‘Olive oil. I would have oiled my hair and my skin. Your father would have thrown you over his shoulder and swept out of the theatre, believe me.’

‘I believe you,’ Maude said appreciatively. ‘I would like to see that look, one day. But oil?’

‘I will give you some. I import it for my own use. It hardly gets used for cooking here in England, although it should be—for both cooking and salads. But Madame bathes with it, treats her hair with it. It is excellent for dry skin in winter weather.’

‘But doesn’t it smell horrible?’ Maude wrinkled her nose, imagining all the sorts of cooking oil she had come across. The image of Eden, his naked body glistening, kept sliding into her imagination. Much better to think of nasty, smelly grease.

‘Here.’ He reached down into a wooden crate standing by his desk and produced a bottle full of greenish-golden liquid. ‘A consignment has just come in.’ The cork popped. ‘Hold out your hand.’

As Maude hesitated he reached out and lifted her hand. The oil was cool as it trickled into her palm, forming a tiny pool no more than a gold sovereign’s width across. ‘Smell.’ He set the bottle down, glimmering in the light from the window like a bottled lake of enchantment.

Her hand still cupped in Eden’s, Maude dipped her head and sniffed. ‘Earth and fruit and…green.’

‘Taste it.’

‘No.’ She shook her head as though he had asked her to drink an enchanter’s potion.

In response he bent and licked the little pool of oil straight from her hand. His tongue sweeping across her palm was hot, strong and utterly shocking. Maude gave a little gasp and tried to pull away, only to be held firmly. ‘Careful, you will mark your gown.’ He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped her palm clean. ‘Are you sure you do not want to taste it?’ His mouth was so close to hers, his lips slicked with the golden oil. Of course, he could mean he would pour her a little more.

And, yes, she wanted to taste it, warm on his lips. Summoning up reserves of willpower she had no idea she possessed, Maude said calmly, ‘This is why Papa insists upon a chaperon, Mr Hurst.’ He was looking deep into her eyes, his own amused, mocking. Hot.

‘Wise man, Maude.’

She had dreamed of hearing her given name on his lips. Caution, tactics, pride made her stare at him haughtily. ‘I have not allowed you to address me so familiarly, Mr Hurst.’ She spoiled the effect somewhat by tugging at his restraining hand. ‘Will you please let me go!’

He released her and went back to his own side of the desk. ‘But we are partners, Maude.’

‘Business partners,’ she said reprovingly as the door opened to admit Anna and the maid Millie with her huge tea tray. ‘Thank you, Anna. Why do you not go with Millie and find some refreshments of your own?’

The girls had placed the tea tray in front of her, so she began to pour, trying to think of some topic of conversation that would neither be stilted nor provocative.

‘Your cook uses the olive oil, then?’

‘My cook regards it as a foreign frippery, not to be compared to good English lard.’ He took the cup and saucer, shaking his head at the proffered cream jug. ‘If I want Italian food, I must cook it myself.’

‘You cook?’ It was unheard of.

‘Country food,’ Eden said with a shrug, but he was smiling with remembered pleasure, not defensively.

‘Italian country food?’ How much could she ask without revealing she had heard the rumour about his parentage? ‘How very unusual.’

‘I lived in an Italian palazzo until I was fourteen,’ Eden said. ‘In the kitchens and the stables, I should say, because that was where I was consigned. Both my cooking and my Italian are on the coarse side.’

He had grown up in his father’s house, then? But with the servants? The use of the word consigned was both unusual and bitter. But she could risk asking no more. His face as he drank the cooling tea had become shuttered.

‘May I take that tour behind the scenes now?’ Maude asked. ‘Or have you other business to take care of?’

‘I always have business.’ But Eden’s grimace as he extended a long finger to ruffle the pages of the notebook that lay on the desk was amused. This was far more than an occupation for him, she realised. He loved the work, the theatre. ‘And some of it can be done while we go round.’

Maude set down her cup and saucer and stood up, aware of his eyes on the sweep of her almond-green skirts. This was going so much better than she had dared hope. This was the man Jessica had described as an icicle, and yet he had let her into his theatre, allowed her a glimpse of his early life and surely, unless he was a complete rake and licked olive oil from the palm of every lady he met—surely a flirtation way out of the ordinary?—he was attracted to her. Yes, he was admiring the hemline, or perhaps it was the glimpse of ankle…

‘I would suggest something less suitable for morning calls the next time you visit,’ Eden remarked, holding the door for her. ‘That pale colour is highly impractical here.’

So much for him admiring the gown she had selected with such pains! But then she had somehow known it would be an uphill struggle, breaking through to the real Eden Hurst she sensed behind the façade.

Maude followed through a maze of passageways, up and down steps, trying to keep her sense of direction.

‘The dressing room for the chorus.’ Eden opened a door on to a deserted rectangular room, a long bench running down the middle. It had stools on either side, a row of mirrors and everywhere there was a feminine litter of pots and jars, brushes, lopsided bunches of flowers in chipped vases, stockings hanging over looking-glass frames, pairs of slippers, scraps of paper, prints and letters stuck to the walls or under the pots. It reeked of cheap perfume and the gas lighting, greasepaint and sweat. ‘It is organised chaos an hour before curtain up,’ he commented, closing the door again. ‘The other dressing rooms are further along.

‘Mrs Furlow is in here,’ he added as he opened the door into the room. ‘The room used by visiting leads. Madame’s dressing room is just beyond.’

Maude realised there was something amiss the moment she stepped into the dressing room in front of Eden and heard the sounds. It was gloomy, with the shade drawn over the high window. In the half-light the gasps were even plainer, more disturbing than if it had been broad daylight.

Confused, Maude peered at the far side where bodies were tangled on what seemed to be a makeshift bed. Someone was being strangled—she started forward to go to their aid, then she realised that it was a couple making love, that the choking cries were a woman in the throes of ecstasy and the curved shape she could see were the naked buttocks of the man between her spread thighs.

‘Out!’ Eden seized her around the waist, lifted and dumped her bodily into the corridor before stalking back into the room. ‘Merrick!’ There was a feminine scream, a thump. Shaken but shamelessly curious, Maude applied her eye to the crack of the half-open door—then closed it hastily. A young man was pulling on his breeches. He was also gabbling something she could not catch. Cautiously Maude opened her eyes again.

‘Be quiet.’ That was Eden. ‘I will see you in my office in half an hour.’ Maude glimpsed him as he turned to face the bed, his face hard. ‘Miss Golding, you will pack your bags and be out of here at once. I will have your wages made up to yesterday and sent to your lodgings.’ There was a gasp, a girl’s voice protesting. ‘You, Miss Golding, are easy enough to replace, Merrick less so. Oh, for pity’s sake, stop cowering under that sheet, girl, and get some clothes on. I am quite unmoved by your charms, believe me.’

He stepped back out into the passage, shutting the door behind him with a control that was as chilling as the look on his face. ‘I am sorry you had to witness that.’

‘So am I, but not half so sorry as I was to hear what you have just said,’ Maude snapped. ‘That poor girl you have callously dismissed—what is going to become of her now?’

Eden’s dark eyes rested on her face with indifference. ‘She will find a place in the chorus somewhere. Or a position on her back if that fails.’

‘On her—’ The crudity took Maude’s breath away. Behind Eden’s back the door opened and Merrick eased out, his coat bundled in his arms, and hurried away. From the room came violent sobbing. ‘Poor thing, let me go and speak to her. He is just as much to blame as she—why does the woman have to take the blame?’

‘No.’ Eden reached out and shut the door, cutting off the sounds of distress. ‘Come, back to my office; it is better if you leave before I have my interview with Merrick.’

Yes, the middle of the passageway was not the place for this conversation. Maude gathered up her skirts and stalked ahead of him in the direction he indicated. Eden Hurst was going to have an interview with her before he got anywhere near the delinquent juvenile lead.

Chapter Seven

‘That was cruel and unfair.’ Maude stood with her back to the desk, her fingertips pressed to its surface behind her. It was easier to confront him standing up, with some support. ‘That young man probably coerced her.’

Eden came in and stood in front of her, close enough to touch, close enough for her to see the coldness that turned his eyes almost black. ‘Fairness has nothing to do with it. I am running a business here. If Merrick goes, I will probably lose Susan Poole, his mistress, who is our soubrette. I can ill afford her loss at this stage in the Season, but ingénues like Harriet Golding are two a penny.’ He shrugged as though that settled the matter.

‘But Miss Golding is just a girl, alone. Don’t you care that she might become a prostitute as a result of this?’ She admired this man, was convinced she loved him. Surely he could not be this cruel? Could she have so misjudged him?

‘Her choice. Merrick was not forcing her, nor has he seduced her. I have been watching them for a few days now.’

‘Then you should have done something before now, she was your responsibility.’ He was close, too close. Maude resisted the instinct to bend back, put one hand firmly in the middle of his chest and pushed. ‘And don’t crowd me, you bully.’

It was like pushing the wall. Apparently oblivious to Maude’s hand planted on his chest, Eden dug into his pocket and produced his notebook, flipped it open and turned it so she could read what was written on the page.

Under oil lamps the definite black letters said Merrick/Golding/ Poole. ‘Oh. Well, you should have done something sooner. Will you please move!’

‘If I wanted to crowd you, Maude, I would get a great deal closer than this.’ Eden tossed the notebook on to the table, seized her wrist and removed her hand from his waistcoat without any apparent effort. He then took one step forward. Maude tried to retreat, came up hard against the edge of the desk and swayed back. Both big hands came down on the leather, bracketing her hips, a knee forced hers apart and then he was standing between her thighs, leaning over her. ‘Now this is crowding you.’

Maude struggled for balance, gripped his shoulders and stared, furious, up into his face. ‘Let me go.’

‘When you admit you were exaggerating,’ he said calmly.

Maude, braced to fight, blinked. ‘What?’

‘You accused me of crowding you, bullying you. This, I agree, is both. But before, no. You accuse me of unfairness and yet you spent an hour this morning with your attorney making certain this theatre was run as a business.

‘I am not running the Unicorn as a recreation, Maude. I am not a gentleman, although you appear to be having trouble grasping that. This is my life and my business and I will not be indulgent with anything that threatens it. Harriet Golding is not some little innocent I am tossing out into the cold—she knew exactly what she was doing when she spread her legs for Merrick.’

The fact that he was standing between her own parted thighs was not lost on Maude. Nothing was, not the heat of him, the smell of him, the tightly contained anger nor the discomfort in her back, bowed over the desk. And most of all, more mortifying than all the rest, the knowledge that she wanted to pull him down to cover her body and make love to her here and now and as wantonly as those two actors.

‘Very well.’ She swallowed. ‘I may have been a trifle… emotional about the situation, I admit. Will you please let me up now?’

Eden stepped back and she came with him, pulled by her grip on his shoulders. When she found her feet Maude let go, brushed down her skirt and walked, as steadily as her aching, shaking, legs would allow her, to pick up her hat, gloves and reticule. She had something more to say to him, but she did not know how she was going to find the courage; it was far too close to her own feelings. Yet, how could she not do her best for the girl?

She set the hat on her head, tied the ribbons beneath her chin and then drew on her gloves as she walked back to where Eden Hurst stood in front of the desk, watching her from under lowered brows.

Maude found her mouth was dry and her throat tight. She made herself look up into his face. ‘Mr Hurst, have you considered that she may be in love with him?’

‘No.’ There was a flicker of surprise at the question, that was all. ‘There is no such thing as love, Maude. There is lust, there is sentimentality, there is neediness, there are the transactions people make for all kinds of reasons. But there is not love. It does not exist, it is merely a romantic fantasy.’

‘Of course love exists.’ She stared back, aghast. ‘Even if you do not believe in love between adult men and women, surely you acknowledge family love? Parents love their children, children love their parents—I know, I love my father and he loves me.’

‘Society and convention makes family units,’ he observed. ‘Nature influences mothers to tend to helpless infants. And some of them,’ he added with chilling flippancy, ‘even heed that influence. Familiarity, dependence, desire—you can call it love if you want to.’

‘Oh.’ Poor little boy. He had betrayed so much hurt in those cynical words. She stood there feeling the tears start at the back of her eyes. But this was not a damaged, abandoned child in front of her. Not any more. This was a grown man with scars to cover those wounds. Scars that so obviously hurt. ‘You poor man,’ she murmured. Then she turned and walked out, knowing that if she stayed she would take his face between her palms and try to kiss away all the years of neglect and loneliness those words betrayed. Would this man ever allow her to try to do that?

Eden stood looking at the door Maude had closed so gently behind her. She pitied him because he denied the existence of love? What sort of foolish feminine fancy was that? He had so much—his independence, work he lived for, wealth, achievement and the sense not to give up his heart and his soul to be toyed with and then discarded by some damn woman. He had made all this out of the stony soil of a mother who had left him for years until it suited her to find him again, an uncaring father who refused to acknowledge his son and fourteen years of neglect in the servants’ quarters of an Italian palazzo.

It was not even as though Prince Tancredi had maltreated him physically. He could have endured that, for at least that would have been a recognition of sorts. No, the magnificent father who dazzled him with the longing for a look, a word, had simply refused to acknowledge that he was anything but a liability, like a feeble old servant that duty did not allow you to cast out. If a man who had everything—wealth, title, position, looks—could not spare a kind word for his own son, then that son had to learn a hard lesson and open his eyes to the realities of the sentimental nonsense people spoke about love.

And Lady Maude Templeton had the effrontery to pity him? Not apparently for being outside the ton or for having no family he could acknowledge, but because he did not believe in the mind-sapping dependency of a foolish emotion. Dio! What had he tied himself to? This was as bad as fighting off Corwin’s daughters. Worse.

The tap on the door sent him back to his chair behind the desk. ‘Come! Ah, Mr Merrick.’

‘Sir.’ The young actor had tidied his clothing and brushed his hair and now stood bashfully, giving a very acceptable performance of troubled penitence. Yes, he was a good actor, even if Eden would never gratify him by saying so. All the more reason to keep him. ‘I’m very sorry, sir, it won’t happen again.’

‘No, it will not because Miss Golding will be leaving us. Is Miss Poole aware of what has been going on?’

‘No, sir.’

‘You are lodging with her still?’

‘Sir.’

‘Then you had better think up an explanation for why you are not getting paid this week, Merrick.’ The young man looked up sharply, the boyish charm slipping. ‘I will add your wages to what I owe Miss Golding.’ That, at least, ought to please his sentimental new partner. If she ever came back.

‘Be very clear about this, Merrick. I am keeping you only because of Miss Poole. She’s a better actor than you’ll ever be and I doubt she’d have the lack of judgement to expose her spotty buttocks to my guests either.’ That produced a furious blush, but Merrick held his tongue.

‘Nothing to say? I need hardly add that if I find you involved with any other female in this company I will ensure that Miss Poole is fully aware of it. I’ll even hand her the blunt carving knife. Now get out of my sight.’

Methodically Eden opened his notebook, crossed out the line about the three actors and added a note about Merrick and Golding’s wages and the need to cast another ingénue, then went to open the door. ‘Millie!’

‘Yes, Guv’nor?’ She appeared round the corner, her face screwed up in her usual earnest scowl. ‘Post, Guv’nor.’ She thrust several envelopes into his hand.

‘Thank you. Go and make sure Mrs Furlow’s dressing room is in good order.’ The maid scurried off and Eden leaned back against the doorjamb, his eyes unseeing on the deserted passageway, wondering if he was coming down with something. He felt decidedly odd. After a minute he scrubbed his hair back with both hands, rubbing his eyes until he saw stars.

There was no time to be ill and no excuse for indulging himself by looking for symptoms either. Eden went back into his office and glanced at the clock. An hour to the afternoon rehearsal. Time to read his post, send Millie out for some food and decide what to do about finding a replacement for Harriet Golding.

There was, almost inevitably, an invitation from the Corwin household. This time it was for a soirée, two evenings hence. Having survived one of Mrs Corwin’s soirées before, he was not over-eager to repeat the experience. Did he still need Corwin’s money? He was reluctant, but the man had not asked for any involvement with the theatre, not like Lady Maude, and money, wherever it came from, was money.

The other invitation emerging from the pile was unexpected. Lady Standon requested the pleasure of his company, again for a soirée, again in two evenings’ time.

It had not been uncommon for him to receive invitations from members of society since his arrival in London, especially those of the faster set. His wealth, and the rapidly growing popularity of his theatre, accounted for it, he supposed, in the same way as prominent bankers or merchants would receive invitations if their manners were sufficiently refined. Such outsiders showed a hostess was daring and completely secure in her own position.

Occasionally he accepted when one of his particular friends pressed the point or when an evening’s entertainment included a celebrity singer or writer he was interested in. But he was wary, for he realised that, for some of the female guests—and on one occasion, not just the females—his person was the attraction. As a decorative exotic it seemed he was a desirable accessory on a lady’s arm and in her bed. He was not averse to a brief dalliance with charming ladies whose husbands were either tolerant or neglectful, but he liked to make his own choices. He was aware it had given him a certain reputation.

But Lady Standon did not appear to be the kind of lady who thought that slumming it with men from beyond her social circle would be amusing; in fact, he rather suspected she was unfashionably attached to her husband, a man who looked as though he would kill anyone who so much as laid a finger on his wife. Maude would doubtless say they were in love. So there was a strong possibility that, after meeting him in Maude’s box, she had simply included him on her guest list with no ulterior motives.

Eden pulled the notepaper towards him and began to write, one letter an acceptance, the other a regretful refusal due to a prior engagement. As he sealed them he smiled, amused at his own choices.

Millie poked her head round the door. ‘I’ve done the room, Guv’nor. You want me to take your letters?’

‘Yes, send one of the lads to deliver them now.’

Eden was not surprised to find Corwin waiting in the office when he came back after rehearsal. Millie had provided the merchant with tea and he sat in front of the desk, seeming, to Eden’s resentful eye, to occupy more than his reasonable share of the space.

‘Well, my boy,’ he began. Eden showed his teeth in what might be construed as a smile and sat. ‘As you can’t come to Mrs C.’ s soirée, there’s a little chat I think we should have.’

‘Indeed?’ Eden injected polite boredom into his voice.

‘Mrs C. is that disappointed, I can’t tell you,’ Corwin remarked, stirring a heaped spoon of sugar into his cup. ‘Bessie, I said to her, it’s about time I settled matters right and tight with Mr Hurst, then we’ll all know where we are and he won’t be bashful about accepting invitations. Why, I said, he won’t need them!’

Eden raised an eyebrow. ‘I would regret causing Mrs Corwin disappointment, but I am afraid my refusal is due to the fact I will be at the Standons’ soirée that evening, not to any bashfulness.’

‘Lord Standon? Well, that just goes to show what I said to my Bessie was right—you’re just the man we need, sir.’

‘For what, exactly?’ Eden asked, knowing all too well what the answer would be.

‘Why, for our girls!’ Corwin took a swig of tea.

‘All of them? I fear that is illegal in this country.’

‘Ha! You’ll have your joke, sir.’ The merchant did not look as though he found it funny. ‘No, whichever of them you choose, although Calliope is the eldest. Once one of them’s wed to you, the others will get off soon enough, I make no doubt of it, especially with the fine friends you’ve got, my boy.’

Eden toyed with the options before him, of which physically ejecting Corwin was the most tempting. Uno, due, tre, he counted silently, then smiled. ‘You flatter me with your proposal, sir, but I must decline.’

He expected anger, but Corwin’s face merely displayed indulgent understanding. ‘I know what it is, and it does you honour, my boy, but we don’t take any account of the circumstances of your birth. Why, Mrs C. herself never knew her father, let alone him being an Italian prince.’

‘You would oblige me by ceasing to discuss my parentage, Corwin. What you think of the circumstances does not interest me. I have no intention of marrying one of your daughters and that is the end of it.’

The other man’s face darkened and he set his cup down sharply. ‘Then you’ll not get a penny piece of my money for your damned theatre.’

Eden shrugged. ‘Your decision, sir.’

‘So you do not intend doing the honourable thing, despite compromising my Calliope?’ the other man blustered.

‘Ah, so you did know about that very unwise visit, did you?’ Eden relaxed against the high-carved back of his chair, aware that when he did so the soaring eagle at the top seemed to rise from his shoulders, claws outspread, threatening. A theatrical effect, but it amused him.

‘Corwin, I may be a bastard, in all the ways that word can be defined, but I am not able to compromise one young lady while she is chaperoned by her sister and, happily, by a respectable third party who happened to be having a business meeting with me at the time.’ The merchant’s face fell, ludicrously. ‘I suggest you go home, tear up whatever draft contract you have been working on and go and seek your sons-in-law elsewhere. You’ll not find one at the Unicorn.’

‘He doesn’t believe in love,’ Maude stated baldly. With complete disregard for the skirts of her evening gown she was curled up at the end of Jessica’s bed, her back against the bedpost, her eyes meeting her friend’s in the looking glass.

Jessica swivelled round on the dressing-table stool, her diamond ear drops dangling from her fingers. ‘You told him you loved him? Maude, of all the—’

‘No, of course I did no such thing. He sacked one of the actresses for having an affair with the juvenile lead actor and I said, what if they are in love? And he said, there is no such thing. He is so bitter, Jessica, no wonder he seems like an icicle. I think it all goes back to his childhood, because he seems to regard even maternal love as something nature imposes just to make sure children don’t starve. Like birds knowing they have to build nests. Although I don’t think he got much paternal love either,’ she added with a sigh.

‘He’s a grown man,’ her friend said robustly, hooking one earring into her lobe. ‘Ouch, oh, bother this thing. Ring for Mary, will you?’

‘No, I’ll do it.’ Maude slid off the bed and went to help. ‘You’vegot your hair tangled in it. There. Yes, I know he’s a grown man,’ she said, reverting to her preoccupation with Eden. ‘But how we are brought up affects who we are when we grow up, don’t you think?’

‘Yes, although some people rise above early hardship and others fall into despair or bad ways, even though they had the happiest of childhoods. If the man is bitter and cold, Maude, are you so sure you love him? I don’t know how you can really, you hardly know him.’

Troubled, Maude perched on the edge of the bed again, absently smoothing out the creases in her skirts. ‘It isn’t logical, is it? I ask myself, I truly do, whether it is just because of the way he looks. But even when he upsets me, even when I see all that bitterness, I still feel for him. And there is something, even when I disagree with him quite violently, that makes me sense our minds are linked.’

‘Just so long as he does nothing to hurt you,’ Jessica said, rising and reaching for her reticule. ‘I was in half a mind whether to invite him this evening—Gareth won’t be best pleased when he finds out—and then I thought, he won’t accept anyway…’

‘He’s coming to the soirée? Eden?’ Jerked out of her brown study, Maude scrambled to her feet and seized the hand mirror off the dressing table. ‘I knew I should have worn the pearls. I look a fright, I—’

‘You look lovely.’ Jessica removed the mirror and took Maude by the shoulders. ‘Maude, I do think there’s some hope for the two of you if Mr Hurst becomes known in respectable society more.’ She frowned as though she was trying to convince herself. ‘If we can play down the theatre and play up his wealth… And it helps that you are now so firmly on the shelf.’ She laughed at the expression on Maude’s face. ‘Only teasing, but it does make a difference that you’ve been out for so long. People might just accept a love match that seems…eccentric. Your papa is being extremely tolerant, you know.’

‘He doesn’t know I have any feelings for Eden, he just thinks I am interesting myself in the theatre,’ Maude said, leaning forward to drop a kiss on her friend’s cheek. ‘Thank you for helping.’

‘Bel will, too, and Eva when she arrives. Eva can make anyone acceptable.’

‘Even an Italian prince’s bastard son?’ Maude asked.

Jessica slipped her arm through her friend’s. ‘Come on, time to go down. I’ll have to think about this. But I warn you, Maude, if I find he has hurt you, I’ll set Gareth on him.’ She paused at the top of the stairs. ‘After I have operated upon Eden Hurst’s manhood with my embroidery scissors.’

Chapter Eight

‘He is not going to come,’ Maude said to Jessica as they met at one end of the long reception room. The party had been in full swing for over an hour, the rooms were full of people, all talking at the top of their voices and drowning out the string quartet that was playing valiantly on a dais halfway down the room.

Young ladies just making their come-out were giggling together or blushing up to their hairlines if addressed by a young man, groups of middle-aged gentlemen stood around discussing politics and sport, the chaperons were exchanging politely barbed compliments on each other’s charges and in one of the side rooms some of the older guests were playing cards.

Gareth, who took the view that there was no point in entertaining if you did not do it properly, had ordered only the best wines to be served and the guests were already anticipating one of the Standons’ famous buffet suppers.

‘Don’t give up on him,’ Jessica urged, ‘It isn’t late yet.’

Maude was already shaking her head. Then instinct sent a shiver down her spine as tangible as the trail of a cold finger running slowly over every vertebra. ‘Eden is here.’ She scanned the room, searching for his arrogant carriage and dark head. ‘There. By the door.’

He was causing a small stir, heads turned. It was not exactly disapproval, Maude realised, more surprise at his presence at such a very respectable soirée. She remembered what the others had told her about his reputation, the fact that he had been seen at some of the more dashing gatherings, the way he attracted not a little attention from the more adventurous ladies. Whether he really fell for their lures she had no idea; people did not mention such things within the hearing of unmarried girls.

Probably, for the man was hardly a saint. Bel was no doubt right. But she was curiously unmoved by the thought of Eden’s past amours. It was his future fidelity she was interested in.

‘Seeing him like this,’ Jessica murmured in her ear, ‘you can understand the rumours about his father. He’s a Renaissance portrait come to life.’ Then she added, her tone puzzled, ‘And yet, there is something about him that is familiar.’

But Maude hardly heard her. She was already moving, drifting nonchalantly down the room on the opposite side to Eden, wafting her fan, smiling at acquaintances. She stopped opposite where he was standing, deep in conversation with a group of men she recognised. They were all in their thirties, titled, fashionable, known for their sporting pursuits. And Eden, she realised with interest, was already familiar with them. The way they were together spoke of easy acquaintance. But she had dined at their tables, attended the parties their wives gave, and had never met Eden there.

Yet here he was, obviously comfortable in their company and dressed, just as they were, in the height of elegant male fashion, as he had been the other evening in their box at the theatre. So, he was admitted more comfortably into male society, was he?

‘We must hold another charity ball, Lady Maude.’ Maude focused her attention on Lady Wallace who had appeared at her side, the aigrette of feathers in her coiffure a danger to everyone within three feet of her. ‘Or some other fund-raising event, don’t you think so?’

‘For the soldiers? Yes, indeed. Last year’s ball and the picnic were very profitable, were they not? I was wondering whether we should not try for something a little different this year, but I confess, I have had no ideas yet.’

She had lost Lady Wallace’s attention. ‘My goodness, there’s that Mr Hurst, such a surprise to see him here. So decorative, don’t you think? And such lovely long legs. Not that I should be saying so,’ she chuckled richly, ‘Seeing that he must be young enough to be my son. And of course, there’s no family, so he’s not exactly one of us. To say nothing of that reputation.’

‘Really?’ Maude held her breath, praying that Lady Wallace would not suddenly recall that she was speaking to an unmarried woman. ‘Do tell.’

‘He is notorious for bedding married ladies.’ The aigrette dipped so low that it almost put Maude’s eye out as her companion leaned closer to whisper.

‘That is hardly unique,’ Maude commented drily, glancing around the room. She could see any number of young matrons with a certain reputation. Once they had provided their spouses with the obligatory ‘heir and a spare’ they had no shame in engaging in heavy flirtation, or worse, with attractive gentlemen. Anything was possible, provided they were discreet.

‘But they do say that he never returns to the same one twice,’ Lady Wallace confided, startling Maude. She had assumed that Eden would indulge in an affaire with the same lady for some time. ‘He invariably loves them and leaves them after the one night, despite their pleas for him to return. And given that, by all accounts, his performance in bed is quite spectacular—oh my goodness, I quite forgot you are not married, my dear. You must forget I said anything about—’ She broke off, her pale blue eyes opened wide in alarm. ‘Mr Hurst!’

‘Lady Wallace.’ Maude turned to find he was standing just behind them, looking quite unmoved at being confronted by two ladies, one of whom was goggling at him as though he was a pantomime demon emerging from a trapdoor, the other, Maude was only too aware, who was blushing like a peony. ‘Lady Maude.’

‘Sir.’ It was as much as she could manage to articulate. Quite spectacular performance? In bed? She had desired him all year, she still tingled all over when she thought of his kiss, but somehow she had never let herself imagine in detail what it would be like to be taken to bed by Eden Hurst. She knew, in theory, what happened, but it had all seemed a rather hazy concept. Rather daunting, if truth be told, and something she put off quizzing Jessica about. Now, so close to the long frame she knew was hard, muscled…

‘Maude?’ Lady Wallace nudged her foot with one pointed shoe. She appeared to be more than a little flustered to find herself actually in conversation with such a notorious character. ‘I was just saying to Mr Hurst how much I enjoyed the new production of How to Tease and How to Please. You have seen it, have you not?’

‘Yes, of course. So amusing, and Mrs Furlow was in fine voice. Papa invited Mr Hurst to our box during the interval.’ Best to establish early on that they had met in innocuous circumstances.

‘Oh, so that is what you meant when you mentioned the theatre at our meeting the other day.’ Lady Wallace smiled nervously at Eden, who was looking politely mystified. ‘Excellent.’ She rallied and tapped him firmly on the arm with her fan. ‘You can do so much good, young man.’

‘I haven’t asked Mr Hurst yet, Lady Wallace,’ Maude said, smiling through gritted teeth.

‘I’ve let the cat out of the bag, haven’t I? I had better take myself off and let you work on him.’ She gave a little gasp at her own choice of words and scurried off in a flurry of feathers like an affronted hen.

‘So, Lady Maude, you have something to ask me, have you?’ He was smiling in that disconcerting way he had, which always gave her the sensation that there was a lot more than mere amusement going on inside his head. ‘Am I going to regret accepting Lady Standon’s invitation when I hear what I am to do for you?’

‘What I would chiefly like you to do for me, at this very minute, is to procure me something to drink,’ Maude declared, ‘and find me somewhere to sit down. This is the most incredible crush.’

‘The mark of success, surely?’ Eden steered her through the crowd to an empty alcove, reaching it just ahead of another couple. Maude recognised Lord Witchell and his latest flirt, Mrs Bailey. There was an interesting moment while the two men eyed one another, then Lord Witchell bowed sharply and walked off. It did not escape her that, far from seeming put out, Mrs Bailey directed a lingering look back over one white shoulder at Eden. A look that said, as clearly as words, that she knew him. Very well indeed.

‘I will not be a minute.’ Maude fanned herself and studied the room while she recovered her composure somewhat. She refused to contemplate whether Mrs Bailey knew Eden in the Biblical sense or not. It was more to the point to worry about whether he had heard what, or who, Lady Wallace had been talking about.

‘Lady Maude.’ He was back, a bottle of champagne in one hand, glasses in the other. ‘I thought it likely I would need fortifying.’ He seemed either unaware, or uncaring, that it was more than a little fast for an unmarried lady to be drinking champagne like this, especially with him. Maude could only be grateful for the wine—the combination of embarrassment, heat and the close proximity of Eden Hurst were a dizzying combination.

‘That is not very gallant, Mr Hurst,’ she said lightly. ‘It sounds as though you would be unwilling to help me.’

‘A few days’ acquaintance with you, Maude, has taught me caution,’ he observed, pouring the wine and handing her a glass. He lifted his in a salute. ‘Here’s to our partnership.’

With any other gentleman Maude would be flirting lightly, and unexceptionably, by now. Fluttering her eye-lashes at being toasted, teasing him charmingly as a reward for fetching her refreshment. But she could not, without jeopardising her business partnership with Eden, flirt with him. It was too soon.

She contented herself with raising her own glass slightly and smiling at him before sipping. ‘Lady Wallace, Lady Standon and I are on the committee of a charity founded by Lady Dereham to find employment for soldiers disabled by the war.’

She glanced at him, hoping for a nod of encouragement at least, but he was regarding her steadily, his eyes serious. Why she had the impression that he was thinking about something entirely other than the charity, she had no idea. ‘We have bought several inns that are run and staffed by our men, placed others in trades or service, but we are always looking for new opportunities. It occurred to me that you might have some vacancies at the Unicorn.’

The dark brown eyes focused on her; he was back from wherever his mind had been wandering. ‘I don’t suppose you have an ingénue amongst them?’

‘No. Do not be frivolous, if you please, Mr Hurst; this is serious. Surely you can use carpenters and scene painters, doormen and so forth?’

‘I am rebuked, Maude. I presume I am still not forgiven for that particular decision?’

‘Not unless you have changed your mind.’ She should back down on the subject of Miss Golding, she knew. It was unbecoming to argue with a gentleman and, besides, there was nothing in their agreement to allow her rights of veto over Eden’s employment decisions. But the cold practicality of his action still chilled her.

‘No, I have not. But I expect I can employ one or two men, if they can pull their weight. I am not carrying passengers.’

Maude nodded. ‘They will. Our concern is to restore their independence and self-respect by placing them where they can do a fair day’s work, not rely on charity. It is finding those positions that is the challenge.’

‘Good, I would support that. On one condition.’ He had captured her fan, a piece of spangled nonsense that looked ridiculous in his large hand, and was gently wafting it for her.

‘What is it?’ she asked, wary of both his easy acceptance of her proposal and of what his condition might be. He was sitting back at his ease on the spindly gilt chair, legs crossed, expression relaxed. Why then did he give her the impression of being poised to spring?

‘That you call me Eden.’

‘I cannot!’ Maude glanced around, concerned he might have been overheard. The sight of one of the ladies on Bel’s committee ruthlessly cornering gentlemen and lecturing them until they opened their pocket books for the charity was so familiar that no one, so far, showed that they thought the tête à tête in any way out of the ordinary, even if they had realised with whom she was conversing, but for her to address a gentleman by his first name was simply not done.

‘Not where we may be overheard, of course. But when we are… negotiating?’ He furled her fan and handed it back while he refilled their glasses.

‘Negotiating?’ There was a caress in the way he said the word, as though they were coming to terms about something far more intimate. Maude swallowed wine without noticing, then started as Eden took the fan again, his fin gertips brushing the lemon kid glove that sheathed her hand so tightly.

‘But yes. We have, after all, a business relationship, do we not?’

‘Of course.’ She smiled brightly, refusing to let him see how he was disturbing her. But of course, how could he guess how deep her feelings ran? ‘If we are negotiating, then I must state my terms. You may call me Maude and I will call you Eden, in private, if you both take some of the men and join our committee.’

‘Very well. You do not ask me to take Harriet Golding back?’

‘I assumed that to ask you to help her would be a lost cause.’ Vaguely she was aware that the noise level in the room had dropped—people must be moving off towards the buffet.

‘Not necessarily. I will not take her back, but I could probably get her employment at one of the other theatres.’ Eden’s attention was on the fan, holding it on his knee while he untangled the ornamental cord, which had twisted around his wrist. Maude found herself studying his face, the thick lashes hiding his eyes, the fine modelling of his cheekbones under the olive skin, the strong line of his jaw, the mobile mouth that looked as though it should betray so much and yet hid its secrets so well.

‘Then why don’t you?’

He did not look up. ‘That would mean asking a favour, putting myself in someone’s debt. It would need to be worth my while.’

‘What would make it worth your while?’ she asked. And then he did look up, straight into her eyes and she could not look away, nor, strangely, did she blush. The look went too deep for that.

‘Do you know what decided me to play the English gentleman for your father the other night?’ he asked.

‘No.’ The glass was in her hand and Maude drank as though thirsty, her eyes not leaving his. She had asked herself over and over again why he had accepted her money, accepted her interference in his theatre, troubled to soothe her father’s concerns. ‘Tell me.’

‘Because when you want something, you say so. And if you do not get it, then you put forward reasons, you negotiate. You do not wheedle or whine or pout or flutter your eyelashes. You have no idea how refreshing that is.’

‘Oh,’ Maude said. ‘Thank you.’ I think. It appeared to be a compliment. He liked her intelligence enough to take her investment. So to continue to influence him, to insinuate herself deeper into his life, she had to ensure she did not deploy any of the feminine armoury of flirtation or persuasion. Not that I have ever whined in my life, she added to herself. ‘What would make it worth your while to help Miss Golding?’ she asked briskly.

‘Dine with me after the performance on Tuesday.’

After a second Maude became aware that her mouth was open and shut it. Then she reached out, took the fan from him and began it ply it vigorously. How much champagne had she drunk? Two glasses? Or three? Because she was surely hearing things. ‘What did you say?’

‘Dine with me.’

‘Impossible.’

‘You have a prior engagement?’

‘No.’ Her appointments book was so full for the next month that she had deliberately kept this next Tuesday night free. Papa would be out so she would have the evening to herself to curl up with a frivolous novel.

‘You see, Maude? How refreshingly unusual for a young lady to admit she is not engaged every night of the week. Well?’

‘I promised Papa I would not go behind the scenes at the theatre in the evening and you are not, I hope, suggesting I dine at your house?’ She felt her voice rising slightly and swallowed. Was she wrong about him after all? Was he simply a heartless rake who would try and seduce her?

‘I am not suggesting that, no. I am intent upon getting to know you, Maude,’ Eden said, ‘not ravishing you.’ He grinned, the look of genuine amusement transforming his face, taking at least five years off her estimate of his age.

‘How old are you?’ she blurted out.

‘Twenty-seven,’ he admitted.

‘I thought you older,’ Maude said. ‘But that is irrelevant.’ Probably. ‘Where are you proposing we dine?’

‘Somewhere private that is not my house and will not cause you to break any promise to your father.’ He smiled, tempting her.

‘If I agree, it will be because I wish to know you better as a business partner and because I desire to help Miss Golding. You should not conclude anything else about my motives,’ she stated, trying to look businesslike and not as though Lady Wallace’s words were dazzling her brain like exploding sky rockets: spectacular in bed…

‘You think I might jump to conclusions?’

‘I have heard about your reputation, Eden.’ There, she had said his name aloud. ‘You are notorious for your liaisons with married women, so I hear.’ She could feel the heat in her face, just speaking of such things.

‘But you are not married, Maude. Say yes.’ There had been a shadow behind his eyes when she spoke of his affaires, a fleeting darkness, gone so rapidly she thought she had imagined it.

Distracted, she spoke before she had time to consider properly. ‘Yes, Eden. I will dine with you on Tuesday.’ It must be the wine, otherwise why had she agreed? So fast, so much faster than I thought. All my plans scattering like dust. How did I ever think I could make him fall in love with me according to a design? How could I not realise that he would set the agenda for whatever he is involved in?

‘Thank you. And will you be my partner for supper now?’ He glanced across the room and Maude followed his gaze. The crush had diminished greatly and the sound of the string quartet was once again clearly audible. ‘If there is any left, that is.’

‘You have obviously never been to one of the Standons’ soirées before.’ Maude stood up, still holding her glass. Eden lifted his and the champagne bottle in one hand and offered her his arm. She took it, smiling up at him. ‘They are famous both for quality and quantity—you need not fear going hungry.’

The queue into the refreshment room was not great and footmen were hurrying back and forth replenishing the long tables. Eden stretched up, looking over the sea of heads. ‘I can see a table for two over there in the far corner. If you trust me to choose for you, you could take it now.’

‘Anything except crab,’ Maude told him, gathering her skirts ready to slip through in the direction he was looking. ‘And lots of marchpane sweets, please. Give me the bottle and glasses.’

A young lady should pretend to have the appetite of a bird, of course, she acknowledged ruefully as she found the table and set out the wine. And, given that she wanted Eden to fall in love with her, she supposed she ought to be employing all the ruses at her disposal to make him see her as attractive.

‘Why are you frowning?’ Eden enquired, placing a platter laden with what must be a selection of every savoury on the buffet in the middle of the table. He was followed by a footman with two plates, forks and a dish brimming with marchpane sweetmeats. ‘Enough?’

‘A feast! Thank you, but I couldn’t eat a tenth of it.’

‘I will help.’ He poured more wine. ‘Now, why the frown?’

‘I was thinking—’ Could she tell him? Oh, why not? He professed to like her lack of feminine tricks. ‘Any lady will tell you that it is most unbecoming to display any appetite at all. I should be nibbling on one patty, perhaps, and you could then, with much persuasion, tempt me to sample a sweetmeat.’

‘I see.’ Eden’s lips quirked into a smile. ‘And you have just given yourself away? I have often wondered—and seeing that we are being so frank, perhaps I may ask—are all young ladies, except yourself, possessed of incredible will-power or are your stays laced so tight there is no room to eat?’

Chapter Nine

Maude burst into laughter. Not a giggle, not a titter, but genuine, uninhibited laughter. Heads turned, one or two grey heads were shaken, but no one seemed too shocked. This was, after all, Lady Maude Templeton and much would be forgiven to the Earl of Pangbourne’s charming daughter. Even, apparently, taking supper with him.

Eden watched her, his own amusement fading away to be replaced by something quite unfamiliar: affection and a kind of warmth. Maude, he realised, made him feel good inside. He gave himself a little shake, wondering if he was sickening for something, as he had suspected the other day. But it was a very strange fever that seemed to come and go like this.

‘Oh, dear.’ She struggled with her reticule and produced a handkerchief, which she used to dab at her eyes. The tears of laughter made them sparkle as she looked at him. ‘Stays indeed! No, and it is not will-power either—we are expected to eat a large supper before we come out. Didn’t you realise?’

‘How should I?’ he countered. ‘I have no sisters.’

‘And little to do with unmarried girls in the Marriage Mart, I would assume.’ Maude studied the platter and pounced on a salmon tartlet.

‘Are we back to the married ladies again?’ he enquired, wary.

‘No.’ She shook her head, making the loose curls that spilled from the combs set high on her crown tremble. ‘That’s just your guilty conscience.’

‘I doubt I have one,’ Eden admitted, biting into a savoury puff and wondering how far Maude’s hair would tumble down her straight white back and gracefully sloping shoulders if he pulled out those jewelled combs. Slowly, one by one.

‘Then how do you know what is right?’ she asked, puzzled.

‘I don’t know. Judgement, experience, assessment of the alternatives, I suppose.’ It was not something he ever thought about. ‘There is no good business sense in being capricious or dishonest. You keep your word because otherwise no one trusts you; you deal honestly, or they don’t come back a second time.’

‘But in your personal affairs?’ Maude pressed, choosing a cheese patty.

Eden shrugged. ‘The same thing. One does not get involved with anyone who does not understand the rules, then no one gets hurt.’

‘Your rules,’ she said, raising one eyebrow.

‘Yes, my rules, in everything, business and pleasure.’ To have the power to make your own rules and live your life by them, not to be dependent on cold, grudging duty. Yes, that was freedom. ‘Except with you, Maude—you set your own rules.’ She looked at him, faintly troubled, it seemed, then the long lashes swept down to hide her wide brown eyes and she smiled.

Damn it, there was that sensation of…dislocation again, of things shifting. It wasn’t dizziness exactly. Like many very fit men Eden found the prospect of being ill not just worrying, but irritating too. He’d go and get a check-up. He couldn’t afford to be unwell.

‘Would you like me to let you know when I audition for the ingénue part?’ he asked abruptly. ‘It will be next week, the advertisements have gone out.’

‘Thank you, yes, I would be most interested.’ She sipped some wine, then began to study the sweetmeats with close attention. ‘I must only have three, you understand, more would be greedy, so I have to choose carefully. Do you have your notebook, Eden? I imagine you never move without it.’ Maude popped a strawberry-shaped morsel into her mouth and regarded him limpidly.

‘Yes, I have my notebook.’ Was he that predictable? He dug in his breast pocket and produced it.

‘Then please make a note to help Miss Golding find another position.’

‘You, Lady Maude, are a very managing woman.’ He made a note and pushed the book across to show her.

‘And you, Mr Hurst, never do anything you do not want to,’ she retorted, closing the notebook and handing it back.

‘No,’ Eden said slowly, feeling the light brush of her fingers as he took it, inhaling the heady scent of gardenia and warm woman. ‘Not always.’

The sudden jolt of physical desire took him aback. She was single, unobtainable, quite out of his reach in that way and he had thought, now he knew her, his own self-control would have ensured he was safe from the heat that licked like flame across his loins. He had learned the hard way not to yearn for what his birth debarred him from, to take his pleasures where he was in control without the inconvenience of either attachment or snubs.

When he glanced at her, Maude was cheerfully waving at an acquaintance across the room. Hell, she’d flee screaming if she had any idea what he was thinking about. Then he recalled their very first encounter. She had not fled then; instead, she had dealt with the situation calmly and with humour. Which, Eden decided, resolutely ignoring the rising tension in his groin, meant she did not consider him a threat in that way, any more than she would fear that any of the professional men in her life—her doctor, her attorney, her banker—would press their amorous desires upon her. That was, he had to believe, a very fortunate circumstance.

‘He has agreed to join the committee.’ Maude swept into Bel’s drawing room, cast her bonnet and gloves on to the side table and bent to kiss Bel and Jessica, who were seated side by side on the sofa studying a pile of silk brocade samples.

‘Who?’ Bel enquired, with a wicked twinkle.

Maude wrinkled her nose at her. ‘Eden, of course. And he will take some of the men.’

‘Excellent,’ Bel smiled. ‘Another really forceful man on the committee besides Ashe and Gareth will be so useful. And we can set him on all the rich widows to seduce money out of them.’

Jessica raised an eyebrow. ‘Eden? Are you on first-name terms now, then?’

‘I agreed to call him Eden, and to allow him to call me Maude—in private, of course—in exchange for him agreeing about the charity,’ Maude informed them smugly.

‘So he is moving the relationship on to more intimate ground, is he? Oh dear, Maude.’

‘I thought it was a step forward,’ she protested. ‘But I have discovered what he likes about me, and it is hardly particularly flattering.’

‘What?’ They both regarded her with gratifying interest.

‘He likes my lack of feminine wiles. Apparently I do not wheedle or pout when I want something.’

‘Perhaps surrounded by thespian temperaments he appreciates something less dramatic and easy to deal with,’ Jessica suggested. ‘It is encouraging, I suppose—if you are really set on this. So, what is the next step?’

Maude had been agonising over whether to confide in her friends about the dinner. It would be the sensible thing to do. The prudent thing. But they would doubtless try to talk her out of it. ‘I am to attend the auditions for a replacement ingénue for the company.’

‘Fascinating,’ Bel drawled. ‘Of course you’ll love that. Who in their right mind would want to go shopping, or driving or making calls when they can sit in a dusty theatre watching auditions?’

‘Me,’ Maude stated. And realised it was not just the prospect of Eden’s company that made her so eager—she was looking forward to watching him at work. Would he listen to her opinions or would he tolerate only her presence? ‘I enjoy shopping too,’ she added, in case they thought she had undergone a complete change of personality. ‘What do you think of this hat?’

‘Delicious,’ Jessica pronounced, leaning over to pick up the black straw bonnet with its high poke, tall crown and row after row of looped and ruched green ribbon. ‘You don’t wear this sort of thing to go behind the scenes at the Unicorn, do you?’

‘No, there’s dust everywhere and people rushing about with pots of paint, or gesticulating with a handful of greasepaint sticks.’ And she did not want to look too obvious. Eden was going to wonder at it if she turned up in the latest fashions. ‘I’m wearing last year’s walking and carriage outfits mainly.’

‘Oh, those old things,’ Jessica teased. ‘You won’t catch a man by wearing last year’s fashions.’

‘You caught one dressed like a governess,’ Bel pointed out.

‘And I changed into garments fit only for a courtesan very soon after we met. I have a strong suspicion that Gareth rather preferred the latter.’

‘I am not sure Eden notices what I wear,’ Maude said, anxious. ‘He seems not to be interested in unmarried ladies.’

‘Really?’ Both Bel and Jessica looked relieved.

‘No, nor actresses, as far as I can see. But according to Lady Wallace he goes through married ladies like a knife through butter, just as you said.’

Her friends regarded her with wide-eyed interest. ‘I knew I was right about his reputation,’ Bel said. ‘What else does Lady W. say?’

‘That he only stays with them the once, however much they plead. And that he is…um, spectacular.’

‘Spectacular?’

‘In bed,’ Maude mumbled, wondering just what spectacular involved in practice.

‘Really? Rich, handsome and a spectacular lover—you certainly have good judgement, Maude,’ Bel remarked.

‘He is also in business and illegitimate,’ Jessica reminded her tartly. ‘And the last thing we want is for Maude to be seduced—however wonderful the experience—and then abandoned after one night. Do we?’

‘Well, no, of course not. But Maude is very levelheaded…’

Jessica snorted. ‘Not about this man, she isn’t. You forget, I was there when she first saw him. We were standing in Mr Todmorton’s shop and in he walks, looking like a dark angel from the chillier regions of Hell, and Maude just stood there gawking.’

‘I am here, you know,’ Maude interjected, annoyed. ‘You do not have to speak about me as though I was somewhere else. And I didn’t gawk, I was merely struck dumb with desire. Dark angel, my foot!’ The fact that it perfectly described Eden when he was in one of his frostier moods was neither here nor there; she refused to believe that was the real person. Behind that façade was someone much warmer, someone who needed her love as much as she needed his.

‘Yes, exactly: desire,’ Bel said seriously. ‘You do know what happens when a man makes love to you, don’t you, Maude, because we don’t want you being swept out of your depth through ignorance.’

Maude retreated into one corner of the sofa, clutching a cushion against her stomach defensively. ‘Of course I understand what’s involved. And I have been kissed and—’

‘I mean the bit between him kissing you and the point of no return.’

‘Not precisely.’ Maude rather suspected that the point of no return would be reached rather rapidly if—when—Eden kissed her again, but she was not going to say so or her two friends would probably insist on chaperoning her everywhere.

‘Are you going to talk to her about it, or shall I?’ Jessica asked Bel. ‘Someone ought to, she doesn’t have a mother—’

‘I am going,’ Maude declared, leaping to her feet and snatching up her bonnet. ‘You are talking about me in the third person again and I have no intention of sitting through a hideously embarrassing lecture on lovemaking. I will work it out as I go along.’ Bel moaned faintly. ‘I am serious, you know,’ Maude said, halfway to the door. ‘I love him. I always knew there was someone, somewhere, who was right for me; that’s why I wouldn’t marry Gareth, even though I love him dearly. It isn’t the right sort of love. I know I might not ever be happy with Eden, I know what the obstacles are, but I am not going to give up without even trying.’

Her friends were on their feet, hurrying across the room to embrace her and reassure her. Maude let them fuss, allowed herself to be drawn back into the room to be seated on the sofa and apologised to, and all the time a little voice was nagging in her mind. What if he does not learn to love you? What if he never does?

Tuesday night approached with the speed of a runaway horse when Maude was worrying about it, and like treacle when she talked herself out of the megrims and started to look forward to it. There was no excuse to go to the Unicorn before Tuesday, try as she might to think of one, and no word came from Eden to tell her where they would dine together.

Maude drove Anna distracted on Monday by having all her evening clothes out, trying on one gown after another, and then declaring that she had not got a thing to wear.

‘For what engagement, my lady?’ the maid asked after an hour.

‘A dinner party,’ Maude said fretfully, staring down at the heaps of gauze, tulle and flounces. She wanted to look wonderful for Eden, but she did not want to look as though she was trying too hard and she did not want to stand out, wherever they were going.

‘There’s the dark blue watered silk,’ Anna suggested, lifting it out of the back of the press. ‘Only you don’t like the under-sleeves.’

They spread the gown on the bed and studied it. It fell into full folds from a high waist, the skirt ornamented by swags and bows in a matching tulle. The neckline was boat-shaped, front and back, with cream lace peeping out to add a little modesty, and full white silk under-sleeves reaching to the wrist from beneath the short puffed sleeves.

‘Can you cut them off? They make me feel like a bishop.’ Then it would be perfect, Maude mused. Elegant and charming, it would show off her bosom and the whiteness of her arms while at the same time it was dark and simple enough for discretion. ‘I will need it for tomorrow night,’ she added, hoping Eden had not changed his mind.

The note came that afternoon. I would appreciate your opinion on some changes we have made to To Tease, Eden had written. I trust it is not too late for you to find suitable companions to accompany you tomorrow evening. I would, of course, be more than happy to arrange for them to be escorted home afterwards so your carriage would not have to make any detours.

So, they were to go on after the play. Maude frowned in thought. Who to invite? She could hardly sit in the box alone and Jessica or Bel would be impossible to shake off. Of course, Miss Parrish! Maude took her old governess out every month, but she had not invited her to the theatre for some time. This would be perfect, if she could just manage to work out how to get them both there, and Miss Parrish home again afterwards, without worrying Paul the coachman.

In the event everything worked so smoothly that Maude had an uneasy twinge of conscience. The primrose path was certainly straight and even…

Miss Parrish was delighted at the thought of the play, Paul Coachman quite reassured by Maude’s explanation that he should take the governess back to Somers Town afterwards while she went on to supper with friends who would send her home in their own carriage, and Papa departed for his own meeting at his club with jovial good wishes to pass on to Miss Parrish.

Her old governess, now employed from her own home teaching young ladies French and Italian, was pleased, as always, with the luxury of the box and the refreshments Maude had ordered. Her enjoyment of the entertainment was so great, her affectionate thanks for the treat so fulsome, that Maude was positively wincing with guilt by the time she had seen her off and slipped back up to the box.

It was strange, watching the theatre change after the audience had gone. The boxes emptied, as did the stalls and galleries, the noise ebbing away until only the murmur of it from the entrance reached her. Maude sat in the shadows and watched while the curtain was hauled up and stagehands began to restore the set to order for the morrow. The cleaners, she knew, came in first thing; soon she was going to be alone in this echoing space.

One by one the gas lights dimmed and went out, leaving only a few. Where was Eden? The tap on the door behind her brought her to her feet, unsure whether to shrink back into the hangings or call Come in! As she hesitated, the door opened and a complete stranger walked in.

‘Good evening, ma’am. I’ll just sort the furniture out if that’s all right with you.’ Without waiting for her response he gathered up all but two of the chairs and walked out, to be replaced by two men struggling with a small table and a third laden with a pile of linen and a basket of flatware, porcelain and glasses.

They were going to dine in the box? Maude felt the delighted laughter bubbling up and bit her lip to contain it. How clever of Eden—she was not breaking her promise to Papa not to go behind the scenes at night and she was somewhere private where they could dine with discretion.

And still the men hurried in and out, now with flowers, wine bucket on a stand, bottles, candles… And were as suddenly gone. Now what? Where was the food going to come from?

The door opened and there was Eden, regarding her in the soft glow of the dimmed lamps and the flicker of the candlelight. He was still in his dramatic black evening clothes with the theatrical ruffles and the watery glint of diamonds at ear and throat. Maude realised, with a sickening jolt in her stomach, just how nervous she was and then, just how happy she was also. The laugh escaped as a half-suppressed gurgle and he smiled, and everything was all right.

‘What amuses you?’

‘You really should have a drum roll to announce you, you look so dramatic in that costume.’

‘And you look—’ He broke off, frowning, then came fully into the box and closed the door behind him. ‘You look quite lovely.’

‘Why, thank you, sir.’ He held the chair for her and she sat, studying him candidly as he took the place opposite. ‘This is a very clever solution to the problem of where to dine.’

‘I enjoy problems.’ He seemed content to sit and watch her, his long fingers interlaced on the white table cloth, his relaxed body elegant in the dark clothes.

‘But I was wondering where the food was going to come from.’

‘You are hungry? You have not already eaten one supper so you may pick daintily at what I provide?’ he enquired, mock-serious.

‘No, I have not. Do not tease me, Eden, I am positively ravenous. You have no idea what an effect nerves have on my appetite. I know they should put me off my food, but I seem to react quite differently. If I am subjected to much more stress, I will end up as round as Prinny.’

Eden smiled and shook his head at her exaggeration. ‘Are you nervous, Maude?’ He seemed not displeased that she should be, which puzzled her for a moment until she realised that he saw it as a purely feminine response to being alone with him. And that, she thought, aroused and flattered him. Not that there were any overt clues to that. It was more something she sensed, something just glimpsed in the dark intensity of his eyes as he watched her, the deep purr of his voice.

‘Of course,’ she said lightly, smiling to hide the effect the thought of his arousal had on her. ‘It was not easy to arrange to be here like this.’

‘You may relax now, then, and eat. My cook is ferrying an entire dinner from my house and, provided there has been no accident to the carriage, we may expect it at any moment.’

‘Eden, that is—ridiculous! You cannot expect the poor man to cook dinner and then deliver it hot and in one piece after driving halfway across London.’

‘How do you know where I live?’ He seemed interested.

‘A figure of speech,’ Maude said repressively. She knew exactly where he lived, had caused her carriage to be driven past his home, now and again, but she was certainly not going to admit it to him.

‘And the poor man is highly paid to produce my dinner when and where I want it, so you may save your sympathy. Ah, here we are.’

The door opened to admit two footmen bearing a tureen, small dishes and a basket of rolls, which they deposited and bowed themselves out.

Eden lifted the lid of the tureen. ‘See? Steaming. All done with hay boxes.’

Maude sipped and exclaimed, ‘This is delicious!’

‘I am glad it meets with your approval. Maude, may I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’ She put down her spoon, happy with any excuse for looking openly at him, and found his eyes dark and thoughtful on her face.

‘You are very frank with me. You let me into the secret of young ladies’ lack of appetite, you share your opinions about matters that I know full well we should not be discussing. Are you as frank with any man?’

Chapter Ten

'I am not sure I quite understand.’ Maude’s heart sank. He thought her unattractively fast? She had thought him amused, if anything, by her unconventional attitude. But perhaps he merely found her eccentric.

‘I have heard that ladies are extremely indiscreet with their hairdressers. Are you simply refreshingly free from silly notions about what is proper, or do you regard me in the light of your hairdresser?’ He is smiling, thank goodness. In fact, he is teasing me…

‘I can assure you, Eden, I most certainly do not regard you in the same light as Monsieur Maurice, as I hope you would realise if you ever met him. Unless…’ she frowned thoughtfully at the crow-black wing of hair he was pushing back from his forehead ‘…unless you too wear a toupee?’ His snort of laughter answered that. ‘When I am with young men at balls and dinners I act as they expect, because they do not have the flexibility of mind to cope with anything else.’

‘And I do?’

‘I hope so.’ She added more seriously, ‘I hope you realise that I am not dining with you alone like this because it seems amusing to be scandalous, or because I am fast and would do so with any man who asked me. It is simply that, with you, I find I can be myself.’

Another man would have been taken aback by that comment, or teased her. Eden merely looked thoughtful. ‘Why is that, do you think?’ he asked, the piece of bread in his fingers crumbling, uneaten, as he studied her face.

‘Because I enjoy your company and I feel quite safe with you.’ And I wish I did not…

‘Despite the fact I kissed you the way I did, nearly took you in the corridor on our first encounter?’ he asked outright, almost making her choke on the spoonful of soup she had just lifted to her lips. And the reminiscent gleam in his eyes made her reconsider exactly how safe she felt.

‘It was an error,’ Maude managed to say calmly. ‘And if I had been someone you intended to kiss for the usual reasons…’ his lips twitched at her choice of phrase, but she pushed on, managing not to stare at them ‘…I imagine matters would have concluded in your office and not in the corridor. That was most excellent soup.’ She had not seen the little bell until Eden lifted it and rang. The footmen came in, cleared and replaced the tureen with more dishes.

‘Lobster, a fricassee of chicken, various vegetables. May I serve you?’ Maude nodded and waited while the plates were filled and white wine was poured. ‘So, you like my flexible mind, you admire my chef’s cooking, you covet my theatre and you are able to disregard my reputation. Is that all that brings you here?’

‘Are you fishing for compliments, Eden?’ Maude enquired, lingering a moment to savour the meltingly tender chicken. ‘You are also aware that you are considered a very handsome man. Perhaps that is why I am here.’

‘Thank you.’ He smiled as she shook her head reprovingly at him for assuming it was her opinion also. ‘I have looks that appear to strike some women as attractive. For which I must thank my father—it is hardly an attribute for which I can claim any merit. But you, I think, are not looking for something so superficial, or a trophy to shock your friends.’

‘Exactly. So you are quite safe,’ Maude said prosaically. ‘We may discuss matters of mutual interest and you need not worry that I am about to fling myself into your arms or tear off my clothing.’

‘I am sure I ought to say that is a relief,’ Eden said, cutting into his lobster. ‘But you must be aware that any man who is conscious and under the age of ninety would wish to find you in his arms, so you must give me full credit for my restrained behaviour.’

It was the nearest he had come to open flirtation. Maude lowered her eyes to her glass to keep her expression hidden while she controlled the impulse to beam at him. ‘I do,’ she said after the merest pause. ‘You mentioned your father just then. Are you very like him in character as well as looks?’

For a moment she thought he would not answer her. ‘I hope not.’

‘You did not get on well together?’

‘He never spoke to me. If it was necessary to decide something, he would speak of me in the third person to one of the servants.’

‘Perhaps he wasn’t very good with children,’ she suggested, chilled. ‘Some people aren’t.’ Eden merely looked at her, but the expression in his eyes said everything. ‘Oh.’ She swallowed. ‘Have you ever gone back, since you became a man?’

‘You are wondering if I created an ogre in my mind and it would do me good to confront him? Yes, I went back, once. I suppose I thought it would be amusing to see what he made of the scrawny little kitchen rat now I’d grown up to look like him, with good clothes and money in my pocket.’

Maude flinched. ‘And?’

‘And I found it…interesting to see what I would look like in thirty years time, although I wondered if I would ever learn the self-control to stay that calm, that distant, in the face of an arrogant twenty-year-old. Or that contemptuous,’ he added, his lips thinning. ‘It was a lesson in the perils of sentimentality. I had thought, perhaps, to have made him proud of me; I learned that the only person whose opinion matters is my own.’

‘You have found no one else whose opinion matters?’ she asked, unable to find anything to say about the rest of that speech. Not and keep from weeping.

‘I had thought not,’ Eden said. ‘Now, let me tell you about the auditions.’ His explanations took them through the main course and into dessert. Maude listened and nodded, all the time conscious of the long fingers gesturing to mark a point, the intensity in his eyes when he was serious about something. She did not dare venture into anything more personal again. ‘There has been a considerable response to my advertisements, so I expect it to take all day,’ he concluded.

‘When will you start? I want to make sure I am here to see everything,’ Maude said, spooning a syllabub as light and rich as spun silk. ‘Mmm. This is heaven.’

‘You will be bored to death, Maude. I will be starting at nine, but you will hardly want to do more than drop in for half an hour or so, surely?’ He reached over and dipped an almond biscuit into the dish in front of her, licking syllabub off the tuile with sensual enjoyment.

‘You said you didn’t want any!’ Maude raised her spoon in mock aggression. ‘This is all mine and I will defend it to the death.’

‘But that was before I tasted it.’ Eden feinted with another little biscuit and Maude rapped him over the knuckles and they both laughed. Then their gazes locked and Maude found she was staring, the laughter dying on her lips as something happened, deep in the dark eyes fixed on hers. ‘Perhaps I am not as good with temptation as I thought,’ he said slowly. There was a long, breathless moment before he broke the gaze with an almost physical abruptness and reached for the platter of cheese.

Maude got her breathing back under control. ‘I will be here for the auditions at nine, then,’ she said. ‘I would like to give you my opinions and I cannot compare one actress with another if I do not see them all.’

Eden put down his knife, his face showing no signs of amusement or flirtation now. ‘The decision is mine. We made no agreement about casting or employment.’

‘Yes, of course. I am not claiming any privilege in the matter.’ What was it Jessica had called him? A dark angel from the chillier regions of Hell—yes, that was it. Well, he was not apparently angry, so Hell was presumably on hold, but his severe masculine beauty and the implacable expression certainly fitted the first part.

She shivered, more unnerved than she liked to admit to herself at his rapid change from amused teasing to icy assertion of his rights. ‘I thought I would sit up here and watch, as though I was a member of the audience. My opinion may be of value to you, and if not, you will ignore it.’ She did her best to sound neither defensive, nor shaken by his territorial reaction.

‘Very well.’ Eden could not be said to have relaxed again, for his body had not noticeably stiffened in the first place, yet Maude sensed the moment of tension had passed. Don’t touch my theatre! He should have a sign hung up, she told herself, striving to find a lighter note. ‘Yes, that will be interesting,’ he added, ‘to see what you think of each from this vantage point.’

‘It is agreed, then.’ She risked further provocation. ‘And Miss Golding? What news of her?’

‘She has found a place at the Sans Pareil in the Strand. They specialise in burlettas; it will suit her well enough.’

‘Thank you,’ Maude said, warmly. ‘I am so happy that you did that.’

‘You are happier than Mr Merrick in that case, for he is short one week’s wages that I added to what was owing to Miss Golding.’

‘So you are not completely heartless, then?’ Maude watched his face from beneath her lashes, caught the wry twist of his mouth. ‘You did not tell me before that you had done so.’

‘It was no loss to me and it served as a lesson for Mr Merrick,’ Eden said coolly, disowning any motive of kindness. He must, surely, have a softer side?

‘You left me to think you were cruel enough to simply cast her out,’ Maude observed, ‘and you were not.’ Instinctively she reached out, laid her own hand palm down over his. ‘It isn’t a crime to admit to compassion, Eden.’

He sat looking down at her hand, then turned his under it and lifted until her fingertips were an inch from his lips. He is going to kiss them… She could feel his breath, hot on the sensitive skin. Then he raised his eyes, watching her under the thick black lashes as he lowered her hand to the table and released it.

‘It is probably as well if you have no illusions about my character, Maude. I am not one of your society gentlemen, running tame in ballroom and parlour. I grew up differently and I know weakness is not gentility, it is danger.’ He did not appear to expect an answer to that, instead picking up a knife and looking at her questioningly. ‘May I tempt you to some cheese? A glass of port?’

‘No, thank you.’ Maude shook her head, distracted by wondering how she was ever going to crack Eden’s defences.

‘Shall I see you to the carriage, then?’ She nodded, still not concentrating completely. ‘I would like to prolong the evening, but I have no desire to cause Lord Pangbourne any anxiety.’

‘Thank you. But he is engaged with friends until the early hours,’ Maude said vaguely. ‘Still, I should not keep my maid waiting up for me.’ Eden came and pulled out her chair for her to rise and she smiled her thanks over her shoulder as she did so.

It happened so fast, came out of nowhere—there was no time to think. At one moment they were formal, she rising gracefully from her seat, he placing the chair to one side so her full skirts were unimpeded, the next she stumbled, her low French heel catching in the carpet rucked by the table, and she was in his arms.

Instinctively her hands went up for balance, fastening on his lapels, and his arms were around her, swinging her away from the low edge of the balcony, folding her against his chest. Her overwhelming sensation was of the scent of him: clean, warm male with a hint of an exotic spice mingling with starched linen and that green earth smell of olive oil.

‘You’ve been oiling your hair,’ she said, such a foolish thing to be talking of when she was strained against his body and he was looking down at her as though he was still ravenously hungry.

‘Yes,’ he said, half-laughing at her, half-serious, with a kind of confusion that seemed alien to him. ‘Maude?’

A question, a statement? A plea? She couldn’t tell. Nor, she realised with something like despair, could she pull away. He was going to kiss her. Too soon…

Eden felt the sensations wash through him, searching with his mind for his self-control like a man who has dropped something precious into a fast-flowing stream. He was going to have to do this, he was going to have to be the strong one, the responsible one. Maude was simply too innocent to realise what was happening here. She probably thought he was going to kiss her, a light good-night kiss, perhaps.

And instead she was a finger’s breadth away from being pulled down to the upholstered bench that ran around the box and ravished. He tried not to hold her so tightly, achingly aware of the force of his arousal, aware of the soft skin, the fragrance that rose from it, the primitive need to strip the silks and lawns from her body. What was it about this woman? He had never so much as flirted with a respectable single woman. She was a virgin, for God’s sake!

Under his hands she quivered and he realised his big hands were gripping her shoulders, the fragile bones trapped under his palms. But she made no sound and the pansy-dark eyes were watching him with something he was quite unable to read.

What had happened? He had thought after that first mistaken kiss that he was simply enjoying her company, the intelligent, amused comments, the sweet femininity surrounding him without any games being played, without any demands being made. Maude was a novelty, a woman he thought might actually become a friend and now—this.

This overwhelming desire came out of nowhere, over-setting him just where he thought he was strongest. He had believed that his will was firm, that his self-control was absolute, that his life was ordered, controlled, planned. And now here was this society chit reducing him to a mass of screaming, mindless need without so much as a flirtatious glance.

And this was not need he could take to some whore to slake. Oh, no, this was need for her, for Lady Maude Templeton, and he might as well desire the moon.

He had done harder things than this, Eden told himself, gritting his teeth and forcing his hands apart. Harder things, more painful things, although just at the moment, in the grip of this madness, he could not recall what they were.

Where had this come from? He was a sensual man, he knew that, knew he would never be celibate. But this lust for an innocent young woman he hardly knew? But he did know her, he realised, with the part of his brain that was functioning clearly. He knew her better already than any woman in his life, other than Madame Marguerite.

He managed to let Maude go, then caught her elbow as she staggered slightly, as though her knees were shaking. How long had he been standing there, holding her, drowning in those lovely, wondering eyes? ‘I’m sorry, did you hurt yourself when you tripped?’

‘No. No, not at all. So clumsy of me.’ She stepped away, apparently steady on her feet now, which was more than he felt. That damned dizziness again. ‘That will teach me to drink two glasses of wine,’ she added, sounding ruefully amused.

Did she not realise what had almost happened just then? Had she not seen how much danger she had been in? It seemed not. And he—what peril was he risking? He could not afford to find himself obsessed with the daughter of a peer, he could not afford the lack of focus that unrequited desire would bring. Or the retribution Lord Pangbourne would bring down on his head if his self-control slipped and he debauched the earl’s daughter.

‘Time to go home,’ Eden said, finding his voice emerged quite normally, not with the huskiness of the desperation he was feeling.

‘Yes, of course. My cloak…’ Maude gestured towards the shadows, then stood while he swung the heavy velvet around her shoulders. ‘Thank you. Now, where did I put my reticule? Ah, here it is.’ She seemed to Eden’s bemused eye to be quite calm, which could only mean she was very innocent, despite her assured air and her age, or completely impervious to whatever dubious attraction he had for other women, or both.

He held the door for her, then followed her out into the wide passageway, resisting the urge to take her arm, knowing he could not trust himself to touch her. She did, however, seem unusually quiet. Perhaps some sixth sense was making her uneasy. Eden walked beside her, racking his brains for conversation and finding none. And finding no possible excuse for not sending her away, breaking their contract, never seeing her again.

Eden seemed unusually silent, Maude thought as they made their way along the wide, deserted corridors and down the sweep of the stairs to the front lobby.

She looked up, seeing the hard line of his jaw, the dark shadow of his beard just beginning to show. Beyond she could see the head of the unicorn, thrusting out of the wall, its horn lowered, its nostrils wide. It had never seemed fierce to her before, or threatening, but now it did.

Someone materialised from the shadows, opened the door and whistled. Eden stepped out into the night, still not taking her arm, and the cold air struck her skin, making her realise just how heated she was. There were the sound of hooves on the cobbles and a carriage drew up.

Eden snapped his fingers at the groom, who jumped down and hurried to let down the steps and help her enter. ‘Eden?’ she queried.

‘I will ride on the box.’ He shut the door and she was alone. Shivering slightly, Maude fidgeted with her cloak and tied the cord at her neck. There were gloves in the pocket and she pulled them on, feeling the need to cover as much skin as possible, as though that flimsy warmth would stop the fine tremor running through her.

Now she was alone she could think about those few crowded moments after she had stumbled and he had caught her in his arms. What had happened? She was not sure. She was not certain even how long he had held her, his strong fingers locked around her shoulders. She had stumbled, Eden had caught her—and for her the world had stopped on its axis.

But for him? He had been so still, his eyes so intent, his breathing hard. Had he felt the sensual shock that had gone through her? Or was it simply that he had found himself, late at night, with his arms full of young woman and it had taken a moment for him to control a man’s natural reactions?

But she did not want him to feel only desire, flattering though that was. She wanted his emotions involved, not his instincts. When they made love—she closed her eyes and shivered—she wanted it to be because he loved her. But Jessica and Bel had warned her that was not how men thought. And it seemed they were right.

Maude was still wrestling with her desires and her ignorance as the carriage slowed and stopped. When the door opened Eden was standing there, his hand held out to help her down. It seemed he was prepared to touch her now. The groom was already climbing the front steps to knock.

She made herself hold Eden’s gaze for a long moment, then pulled up her hood and put her hand in his. ‘Thank you.’

‘Thank you, I enjoyed your company very much.’ He kept his voice low, conscious, as she was, of the driver up on the box.

‘And I, yours. It was a delicious meal; please thank your chef for me,’ she responded, as though they were parting after a normal society dinner party. ‘I look forward to the auditions.’

One of the footmen had come to open the door. Maude inclined her head to Eden with a smile and walked with perfect poise across the pavement, up the steps and into the hall. ‘Thank you, James. You may lock up now. His lordship will be very late and he has his keys.’

She kept her back straight all the way up the stairs, along the landing and into her room, even though there was no one to see her. Anna came in answer to the bell and chatted cheerfully as she unlaced Maude’s gown, put away her jewels, unpinned and brushed her hair, unperturbed by her mistress’s silence.

When she had gone Maude sat up in bed and watched the dying fire and contemplated, for the first time in her life, a problem she did not know how to solve.

Chapter Eleven

Maude was up there, in her box, although it was scarcely half past eight. He could sense her as clearly as if the scent of gardenias had wafted down to the bare stage and driven away the stink of gas, greasepaint and dust. Eden took the list of hopefuls for the audition from the stage manager and scanned it, although he already had it clear in his mind.

‘Who have you got to play opposite them?’

‘Tom Gates.’ Howard, the stage manager, ran his hands through his grizzled brown curls and frowned at the stage. ‘What props do you want, Guv’nor?’

‘Table, chair. Throw a shawl over the chair, put something on the table—give them something to use.’ He could feel himself turning to look up at the box and swivelled back, despising himself. He had dealt with his frustration, but he had not been able to force himself to think of just any woman. Instead, his mind had been filled with the image of Maude, her supple body, her soft, warm mouth, and he had groaned aloud, the sweat standing out on his brow. ‘Here.’ He thumbed through the pages of the play in his hand. ‘Give them all this scene.’

‘Right you are, Guv’nor.’ Howard turned back to take the pages. ‘Her ladyship’s here.’ The man lowered his voice and jerked his head towards the tier of boxes up on the right. ‘Been here since eight. Said not to disturb you.’ Eden allowed himself a grunt of acknowledgment. ‘I sent Millie up with some coffee and sweet rolls.’

‘Good.’ At least he wasn’t fantasising, Maude really was up there. Perhaps there was nothing wrong with him at all, except lust, and slender brunettes with heart-shaped faces and haughty little noses were what it took to reduce him to this state of distraction.

His doctor had patiently examined him, peered into his eyes, listened to his heart, performed whatever mysteries medics did over a urine sample and pronounced him as fit as a racehorse. The man had offered to bleed him should the strange dizzy spells recur, advised laying off the port and drinking more Burgundy instead and recommended a few early nights. ‘Not that there’s a damn thing wrong with you, Hurst,’ he’d added. ‘Still, I expect you want some advice for your money.’

Eden stalked off to straddle a chair set stage right, his back to Maude’s box, without acknowledging that he was aware she was there. It was ungracious, he knew. He dumped the papers on the small table set beside it, pulled a pencil out of his pocket and tried to make his mind go blank. And failed.

And it wasn’t just the physical attraction, it was the way she looked into his eyes as though she wanted to touch his soul and asked him questions and he found he was betraying his innermost thoughts, his weaknesses, the sore areas he tried to ignore.

Try common sense… The more you avoid thinking about her, the more obsessed you will become. There are two options—make love to her or get used to her. The first was patently impossible, which left the second.

Eden stood up, moved centre stage and shaded his eyes to look up at the boxes. ‘Lady Maude?’

‘Mr Hurst.’ He could see her easily now. Maude had taken off her bonnet and she was resting her elbows on the velvet padded rim of the box, a coffee cup cradled in her hands. ‘Thank you for my breakfast.’ She could pitch her voice to reach him without shouting, he realised, professionally impressed at the clarity.

He should, of course, acknowledge that it had been Howard’s idea to send up the refreshments. ‘My pleasure.’ He wrestled with the conscience that he had assured her he did not possess. ‘But you must thank Mr Howard, our stage manager, for that.’

‘Thank you, Mr Howard,’ she called, waving, and the man produced a rare smile and raised a hand in acknowledgment. Now she is going to charm the entire company, Eden thought, resigned to hearing Maude’s praises sung by all and sundry.

‘Right.’ He looked at his pocket watch before laying it beside the script. ‘Let’s get on with this.’

Maude bit the end of her pencil and concentrated. Mr Howard had given her a list of the hopeful ingénues and she was making careful notes against each. Not very clear… Moves awkwardly… Over-dramatic… Too old… Moves beautifully, but couldn’t hear her…

When Eden stood up and announced a break for luncheon, she had come to the conclusion that there were only three so far who seemed right. ‘Mr Hurst!’

Eden turned, looking up, and she was almost tempted to launch into the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. She repressed the urge; her acting would reduce the audience to fits of laughter. ‘Would you care to take luncheon up here?’

She had managed, with some success during the day at least, not to think too much about those moments in Eden’s arms that night. Now he seemed to hesitate and she felt her poise slipping.

‘Thank you, but, no, Lady Maude. Perhaps you would join Howard, Gates and me down here?’ He must have thought her silence meant she was doubtful, for he added, ‘With your maid, of course.’

‘Thank you, we will be right down.’ It was not doubt, Maude thought, managing to keep the smile off her face with difficulty, it was delight. For if he was inviting her to join them, then it meant he was prepared to listen to her ideas.

With Anna at her heels she made her way on to the stage to find hands were transforming the make-shift set into a dining room and putting chairs around the table. Millie bustled on with a tray and began to lay out plates of cold meat, a raised pie, bread and cheese.

‘Have you ever been on stage before?’ Eden asked her as she stopped, centre front of the fore-stage, and looked out over the ranks of seats.

‘Only in small private theatres in country houses. This is breathtaking. It feels so much bigger than it looks from the box.’ She glanced at him and saw he was standing, studying the view from the stage with the same look on his face as she sometimes saw on her father’s countenance when he came home to Knight’s Fee, their Hampshire estate. This was not just Eden’s work, not just a tool of his trade—this theatre belonged to him in a way that went far beyond deeds of ownership. What she could see was passion and possession and pride.

‘You have good projection and pitch,’ he remarked, turning back to the table and taking the jug of ale from Millie. ‘Are you sure you cannot act? Think what the appearance of Lady Maude Templeton on the stage would do for the box office.’

‘Empty it,’ she said, laughing, and took the chair he held for her. Anna, looking alarmed, was seated next to Tom Gates and Howard took the foot of the table.

‘Help yourselves.’ Eden waved at the spread before flattening his notes next to his plate and pouring ale. ‘Can you drink this, Lady Maude?’

‘I expect so,’ she said, cutting the pie and serving it out. ‘It is thirsty work, listening.’

‘Right, then. The first one.’

It took about three minutes for the men to forget who she was and to absorb her into the discussion. Elbows appeared on the table, notes were scribbled with one hand while the other waved a slice of bread to make a point, slices of meat and cheese were heaped on her plate without ceremony and Gates clinked his mug against hers. ‘Cheers.’

Anna sat, quiet as a mouse, eating steadily, while Maude listened. So far, everyone was agreeing with her impressions, although their analysis of faults and talents were far more detailed and technical than her own.

‘Number ten,’ Eden said, spearing an apple with his knife. ‘No projection. No presence.’ The others nodded. Maude looked at her notes.

‘I don’t agree.’

The three men reacted as though the loaf of bread had addressed them, she thought, amused. ‘I beg your pardon, Lady Maude.’ Howard stopped gaping at her. ‘She wasn’t good technically.’

‘She looked charming, she is graceful and she reacted well to Mr Gates’s lead,’ Maude stated. ‘Can’t you teach her to project her voice better?’

‘She should know how,’ Eden said.

‘But she’s young, she cannot have much experience. Won’t you call her back?’

Gates looked at Howard. Howard looked at Eden. Eden poured more ale. Maude could almost hear their thoughts. His theatre, his company, his decision—and if he let her override him, would it diminish his authority?

‘Why didn’t you say anything about the others?’ he asked.

‘Because I agreed with you about them.’

‘Ah. Well, Lady Maude, you are our expert in the audience. Howard, put number ten down to call back.’ Face studiously blank, the stage manager made a note. ‘Number eleven?’

By mid-afternoon Anna had fallen asleep on the padded bench and was snoring softly, but Maude was still engrossed. She had three more possibles on her list and was finding her judgements easier now she had heard the men’s opinions over luncheon. Finally, at half past five, Eden called a halt and she went back down to the stage, leaving Anna sound asleep in the box.

‘Well,’ Eden said. ‘Show me your lists. Lady Maude, gentlemen.’ He spread them out on the table side by side. ‘It would appear we are unanimous. There’s six for you to call back tomorrow, Howard.’

‘You mean I got them right?’ Delighted, Maude bent over the table, tracing the notes with her finger.

‘I’m impressed.’ Eden was standing close beside her, the others had walked off; in the distance she could hear Howard calling the names of the afternoon’s selection. ‘Are you tired?’

‘No,’ Maude said, then found she could not stifle a most unladylike yawn. ‘But I do have a thick head. All that concentrating, I suppose.’

‘And no fresh air. These gas lights are all very well, but it is not a good atmosphere to be in all day.’

‘We could go for a walk,’ Maude suggested, watching as Eden stretched like a big cat, all supple muscle and long limbs.

‘It will be dark. This is February, remember.’ He stood, turning his head as if to ease his neck, then sat to gather up the papers.

‘Is your neck stiff?’ she asked as he rotated his shoulders. His attention was on the sheets in his hand; she doubted he was even aware that he was doing it.

‘My neck? Yes, a little. I am usually on my feet more.’

‘Let me.’ Maude moved behind him, put her hands on his shoulders and dug her thumbs into the hard muscle. ‘I do this for Papa when he’s been in the House all day.’ Under her hands Eden’s shoulders stiffened. ‘Am I hurting you?’

‘No.’ She wasn’t sure if she believed him; his voice sounded more than a little constrained. But it was such a delight to find a perfectly innocuous excuse to touch him. No one could object to having their shoulders massaged, surely?

‘Thank you. That is much better.’ He moved restlessly and she lifted her hands away. ‘I will call your carriage.’

‘I love the streets after dark. Walk me home, Eden?’

Eden had been turned away from her, now he swung round. ‘It is too far.’

‘To Mount Street? Half an hour, I should think. But I will send Anna home in the carriage, she is tired.’

‘You cannot walk through the streets with a man and no chaperon,’ Eden said firmly.

‘I have a veil on my bonnet and they are all perfectly respectable streets.’ Maude contemplated him, wondering what argument would work. ‘I have a headache. It will be much better for me to cure it with fresh air and exercise than having to dose myself with something when I get home.’

‘Is it a thick veil?’ Eden asked. She could almost hear the sigh.

‘Very,’ Maude assured him. ‘Will you ask Mr Howard to send Anna home in the carriage when she wakes up?’

‘Yes.’ Eden looked resigned more than cheerful at the thought of the walk. ‘Come along, then.’

‘I will meet you in the front lobby,’ Maude said. ‘It is after four, so I cannot go back stage, remember?’

‘I assume your father was attempting to safeguard your reputation when he imposed that condition.’ Eden regarded her with a jaundiced eye. ‘No doubt it never occurred to the poor man that you might want to take to the streets with me, unchaperoned?’ As he strode off stage without waiting for her answer, it appeared to be a rhetorical question.

* * *

The evening was cold but dry; the air, even full of the smell of horse manure and smoke, was refreshing after the close atmosphere inside. Maude slipped her hand through the crook of Eden’s left arm and breathed deeply as they made their way along Long Acre towards Leicester Square.

The streets were crowded, bustling and, in this part of town, thoroughly vulgar. ‘I love this,’ she confided. ‘Look at how much life there is going on here.’

‘Indeed.’ Eden sounded less enchanted by the sight of barrow boys, ladies of dubious virtue on street corners and groups of working men noisily making their way to the nearest tavern. ‘And a couple of streets further north and we’re into the St Giles rookery, so hold on to me and don’t go wandering off or you’ll experience more life than you’ve ever dreamt of.’

‘As if I would,’ Maude said demurely. ‘Oh, look, Eden, hot chestnuts. May I have some?’

Eden bought a cone of old newspaper, filled with blackened, fragrant nuts and began to peel them as they walked, hampered a little by Maude on his arm, although he gave her his gloves to hold. She laughed at his muttered comments as he struggled. ‘You’d curse if it were your fingers being burned,’ he grumbled at her when he finally freed the hot kernel. ‘I suppose you want the first one too, don’t you?’

‘It would be the gentlemanly thing to offer it to me,’ Maude observed, amused by the glimpse of Eden fumbling with the nut like any schoolboy. ‘And don’t tell me you aren’t one,’ she added as he opened his mouth. ‘But I am definitely a lady, so I think you deserve the first fruit of your labours.’

‘Thank you.’ He popped it into his mouth, then mumbled, ‘I’dths too hot!’

‘I know,’ she said, laughing. ‘Why do you think I let you have the first one?’

He grinned back at her teasing and began to extract another. ‘Here, open your mouth, it will mark your gloves otherwise.’

Eating in the street, let alone having a man popping food into her mouth, was thoroughly unladylike behaviour, Maude knew, lifting the edge of her veil just enough for Eden to deliver the chestnut between her parted lips. But as they walked down Cranburn Street into Leicester Square the people they were passing weren’t ladies and gentlemen, but people with far fewer inhibitions about enjoying themselves, and their chestnuts were not the only things being consumed. Regaining proper speech again, Eden tossed the rest of the parcel to an urchin. ‘Here, catch.’

‘Oh, look, Stagg and Mantle’s are still open,’ Maude said, veering sharply off to the left as soon as they got into the square, only to be brought up short by Eden digging in his heels.

‘Over my dead body are you dragging me into a linen draper’s,’ he stated, with more firmness than gallantry. ‘And,’ he added as Maude studied his face for any signs of yielding, ‘if you so much as flutter an eyelash at me, I will call a cab and that’s the end of our walk.’

‘All right.’ She tucked her hand more firmly into the crook of his elbow. ‘It is your turn anyway.’

‘For what? Mind that coal cart!’

‘For a treat.’ Maude looked up at his austere face. ‘I had the chestnuts, now it is your turn.’

‘I wasn’t aware that walks involved treats.’ Eden sounded amused—or was he simply bemused?

‘My governess started it, and then my girlfriends picked it up and it has become a tradition. So—your turn to choose.’

‘I can’t think of anything I want. Nothing, that is, that it is reasonable to want on a crowded street,’ he added as they walked down Coventry Street towards the bustle of Piccadilly.

‘Hatchard’s?’ Maude enquired hopefully. Once she had lured him into a bookshop, there was the prospect of browsing together companionably, finding out what kind of books he liked, edging him towards the poetry…

‘I have far too much reading waiting for me, without adding any more. Aren’t you tired yet?’

‘Certainly not, this is a mere stroll. At home in Hampshire I walk miles. Oh my, look at that quiz of a hat.’

‘It probably cost twenty guineas. The family estate in Hampshire, no doubt?’

‘Yes, Knight’s Fee. I love it. So does Papa—bone deep. You know, this afternoon, when I saw you looking out from the stage at the theatre, you had just the sort of expression he does when he looks out at the land.’

‘Bone-deep love? Yes, I suppose that is what it is. The first time I stepped into a theatre I was fourteen years old and the magic got hold of me and has never let me go. I had never possessed anything before that was my own creation. The theatre let me create and then I was able to buy one, and another, to put on plays. But none of them were right—but I knew I would know when I found it. And in the Unicorn, I have.’

She held her breath, willing him to go on, to let her see more, to understand more. But he had caught himself up, she could sense it.

‘And you, Maude—you couldn’t live without your country estate and your town house, your balls and your charities, could you?’

‘I could if I still had my friends and I could still visit Knight’s Fee. Women have to get used to the knowledge they must leave their childhood home, at least, unless we give up all idea of marriage.’ It made her slightly breathless, actually speaking of marriage to Eden.

‘And you haven’t given up, despite your advanced years?’ He sounded serious, despite his joke about her age.

‘No, of course not. I have always said that there was the right man out there for me and I would know him when I saw him. Just like you and your theatre. I will remain a spinster all my life, rather than compromise on that. That’s what gave me the strength to stand up to Papa when he wanted me to marry Gareth.’

‘Standon?’ He sounded surprised. ‘So that is who you were telling me about. But you are good friends, are you not?’

‘Excellent friends and we have been for years. It would have been like marrying my brother. Oh, look—’ Maude pointed up Dover Street ‘—that’s where we first met.’ Oh, Lord! I blurted that out without thinking…

‘What, you and Standon?’

‘No.’ Nothing for it. ‘You and I. In Todmorton’s perfumery shop. I was with Jessica—Lady Standon—you had come in to collect something.’

Eden stopped, ignoring the pedestrians who bumped against him, then began to flow round them as though they were a rock in a river. ‘I knew I had seen you before.’ He frowned in concentration. ‘Sponges. Why do I think of sponges?’

‘Because Jessica and I were tossing little ones to and fro and you walked in and had to catch them. We were being foolish and you were looking exceptionally severe.’

Eden ignored that. ‘You were wearing green. Moss green and a bonnet with a big satin ribbon and ruching all under the brim.’

He remembered her! And Jessica had said he hadn’t noticed them at all. ‘That’s right,’ Maude confirmed happily until she realised with a jolt that she should have pretended not to recall any detail at all. ‘It was brand-new. I remember Jessica commenting on it as we went into the shop.’

‘And there I was, thinking every detail of the day was burned on your memory because that was the day we met,’ Eden said, creating an inner turmoil that made her feel light-headed. If he only knew!

‘Well, it was not burned on yours,’ she retorted as her scrambled wits reasserted themselves. ‘I had to remind you.’

‘I could hardly stare at a beautiful young woman, chance met in a shop, now could I?’ he asked reasonably, beginning to walk again. ‘I saw the gown, the bonnet, a glimpse of your face. I knew you were familiar when I saw you at the theatre.’

Maude could have told him every detail about what he had been wearing: the highly polished Hessians, the buff pantaloons, the dark blue coat, the cane with the silver head, the high-crowned hat in his gloved hands. She could have described in minute detail how his hair had curled over his collar, his words to the shop assistant, the almost physical blow to her senses that seeing him had been.

‘Nearly there now.’ They were turning into Berkeley Street, up the side of Devonshire House. ‘It seems we were fated to meet again,’ he added, almost to himself.

‘Yes,’ Maude agreed, striving for a tone of bright amusement at the coincidence.

‘One could almost say that passing the shop again this evening was an omen,’ Eden mused. They had reached the narrow alleyway that ran between the end of the Devonshire House garden boundary and the length of Lansdown House’s high wall. The lighting was poor there, contrasting to the open space of Berkeley Square a few yards ahead. ‘Do you know, I think I know what I want for my treat.’ He stopped and stepped into the mouth of the alley, almost too narrow for them to stand side by side.

‘You do?’ He was drawing her into his arms, bending his head until his mouth was just above hers.

‘I left that shop wishing I could kiss you.’

‘You have. Outside your office.’ It was an inelegant squeak, but the best she could manage.

‘It was hardly my best effort,’ Eden said thoughtfully. He lifted her veil back, then his hands bracketed her face, his thumbs caressing lightly against her cheeks.

‘Eden—we are on the street!’ Her breathing was all over the place and her hands, without any conscious volition, had come up to rest against his lapels.

‘Safest place,’ he said, sounding rather grim for a man about to kiss a woman. And then he kissed her and Maude stopped thinking about his tone of voice at all.

Chapter Twelve

The pressure of Eden’s mouth on hers was light—a caress, not a demand. He did not draw her closer, or try to master her, he simply let his lips stray over hers, tasting, caressing, until finally his tongue-tip slipped between her lips and she could taste in her turn.

His gentleness made her shyer than his force had done; his restraint ensured that every move she made would be very plain to both of them. Maude’s fingers closed around his lapels, rather than slide into his hair, which was what she wanted; she stood still rather than pressed herself against him, which was what her body wanted.

The kiss was over almost before it had begun, before her legs could begin to tremble, before her mind became completely blurred with sensation. Eden released her, dropped a kiss on to her forehead, adjusted her veil, then drew her out into the open, her hand once again tucked chastely into his elbow.

‘Thank you,’ he said seriously. ‘That won’t happen again.’

‘It won’t? I mean, why did it happen at all?’ Maude asked, flustered and not at all certain she was not angry with him. That brief caress had agitated more than it had satisfied, confused her more than answered any of her doubts and questions.

‘It happened because I needed to get that out of my mind,’ Eden said. ‘I needed to be sure I would not reach out for you when we were alone together. Shall we just say, I was satisfying my curiosity?’

‘You may if you like,’ Maude retorted. Yes, she was angry. ‘Why here, now, in the street?’

‘Because it is a very safe place. Even I am not going to go any further than that out here.’

‘Even you?’ she demanded, coming to an abrupt halt on the corner. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I have a certain reputation,’ Eden said, looking down at her. It was hard to see in the poor light, but she thought he looked as grim as he had sounded just before he kissed her.

‘For liaisons with married ladies. Very short-lived liaisons,’ Maude retorted. ‘I hadn’t heard that you went about debauching virgins.’

‘And I do not intend to start.’ Eden strode along the short end of the square, forcing Maude to do a hop and a skip to keep up.

‘Excellent. Because I have no intention of being debauched. It sounds horrible. Seduction sounds much better. With the right man, of course.’ And if Eden had kissed her like that, that night in the box after dinner, then she could not fool herself—he could have seduced her with no difficulty whatsoever.

He stopped again on the corner of Curzon Street and looked down at her. The sound he made might have been a huff of laughter. ‘Hold on to that thought, Maude. Am I forgiven?’

‘Of course. It was very pleasant, and instructive, if brief. I could have told you to stop, could I not? And,’ she added, risking a smile, ‘I did not limit what your treat could be.’

‘No, you didn’t.’ Eden’s smile was genuine, if fleeting. Then he was serious again. Maude wondered if she was imagining the look of bleakness in his eyes, then decided it must be a trick of the torchlight flickering from the flambeaux outside the houses on the corner.

She was making progress with Eden, Maude decided, pouring the earl’s morning coffee as a dutiful daughter should, and closing her ears to his robust, if muttered, comments on the government’s taxation policy.

Eden was obviously attracted to her, or he would not want to kiss her. And it must be something more than mere desire, because he was so gentle with her. And he had remembered what she had been wearing in the shop that day. And he had listened to her views at the audition. It was slower progress, though, than she had daydreamed of. Foolishly she had expected him to take one look and fall in love with her—or at least manage to do so after a short acquaintance.

And just as obviously the fact that she had fallen in love at first sight did not mean it must be mutual. She sighed, remembering the gentleness of his kiss, the total control. He was very obviously not out of control with desire for her.

‘You are up very early, my dear.’ The sigh had obviously penetrated the barrier of the Morning

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