His Secret Mistress Page 3

  And if she didn’t throttle a duke.

  The actors not playing in the scene lounged around with more than a passing interest in what was happening. She, who was known for her tart tongue, could see the smirks and sly glances they exchanged. They knew she wasn’t really speaking her mind, at least, not like she would with them, because insulting important locals was never a good policy.

  Furthermore, the duke had been generous. He’d used his own men to haul their wagon off to the wainwright for repairs. She’d purchased fodder for dear Melon at a very good price from his stables. And it was on his land that they had set up their camp for their performances and he was not charging rent. No, what he wanted was something more costly—her tolerance.

  Did she know that he fancied himself her savior? That he was enamored of her?

  Oh, yes. Unfortunately.

  He wasn’t the first she’d had to delicately handle, although it was a terrible bother. Kate was too busy to be acquiescing to male pride this way. It was one of the chief annoyances of her life. There were times she just wanted to say, “Yes, yes, I know you want to kiss me but you can’t,” and have them leave her be. They never picked up on her polite hints. Especially the young ones.

  And dukes whom you owed a debt to were trickier to dodge than most. She needed to be nice to Winderton, at least until the wagon was fixed and she could continue on her way to the city. She’d already rented Drury Lane for her troupe’s London debut. The date was fixed seven weeks hence for their performances and she was determined to make it, even if she had to carry all their goods herself.

  Fifteen years ago, just when her acting career was beginning to take hold, she’d left London in disgrace and ruin because of a terrible betrayal. She’d never given up acting. The desire to perform was deep in her soul. However, she’d steered well clear of London.

  But life had a habit of turning dross into gold. Last year, her brother had inherited a ducal title. He’d married an heiress and attending the wedding in London, Kate had realized that time had gone on. Those who had hurt her were no longer there. She could return, if she dared—and she did.

  Since that wedding, she’d envisioned bringing her troupe to London. She’d planned for it, saved for it. She had a second chance at a dream that had burned bright inside her ever since she was a child. And nothing would stop her—not a lovestruck duke, or a broken axle and wheel, or that a week earlier, her lead actor Arlo Durbin had run off in the night with the local vicar’s youngest daughter and the troupe’s cash box.

  Arlo’s betrayal had infuriated Kate. Then again, what man could be trusted?

  Her purpose was to do what she always did—to dust off her skirts and move forward.

  She could ask her family for help. Her brother was very wealthy now and he had always been generous, even when he’d been poor. She wouldn’t, though. Kate had pride. She also wanted to succeed on her terms. She was older, wiser, and tougher than the lass who had been silly enough to believe in love. The past years had sharpened her instincts. Few men played her for a fool, which made Arlo’s thievery and defection all the more biting.

  Fortunately, Kate was an optimist, especially when she had her eye on a prize. Maidenshop was the perfect sized village for their performances. They could make a tidy sum in a week or two. Then they would move on to London and victory.

  That is, if she didn’t lose her temper and strangle the local duke.

  “Here, see?” Winderton moved over to his imaginary barrier and feigned being a fox peeking out around it. He was a princely dressed fox in well-tailored clothes and he smiled at Kate as if she must agree with his position.

  She did not. Behind him, Nestor, the actor actually playing the role of Mr. Fox, mocked his earnestness with a roll of his eyes.

  Since the duke had latched on to Kate the day before, the actors had teased her unmercifully about Winderton wanting under her skirts—such was the way actors talked and something Nestor himself had tried, until Kate had set him firmly in his place.

  No one climbed under her skirts. A woman’s power came in being in control. Sexual congress upset that balance. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.

  She forced a bright smile. “An interesting idea, Your Grace . . . though Mr. Fox can’t jump out behind a barrel because he is supposed to be on the other side of the stage. The ‘trolling around’ was him taking himself to where he needed to be.”

  Winderton placed a hand on his chin as he considered her comment. Then he said, “Well, Mr. Fox can move around on the barrel side of the stage. I definitely believe he must be over here.”

  She kept her voice oh-so-sweet, a warning to anyone who knew her well that her patience was growing thin. This was her troupe. She’d built it from nothing. The only opinion that mattered was hers. “You make an excellent point, Your Grace. However, from the angle you prefer, the audience wouldn’t believe Mr. Fox can’t see what the crows are doing.” She nodded to Thomas and Robbie. They didn’t wear costumes but flapped pretend wings to demonstrate their characters.

  “But if he was behind a barrel—”

  “The crows would still see him in that location.”

  “Ah—” the duke allowed.

  “Thank you,” Kate answered. “Nestor, your line—”

  “Which is another matter,” Winderton interjected. “I don’t wish to usurp your authority—”

  Then why are you doing it? Kate wanted to shout. She clenched her teeth behind her smile.

  “Wouldn’t it be better for the fox to be more forthright?” The duke puffed out his chest and hit it in dramatic demonstration. “Instead of telling us what the crows are doing, he should just shout, ‘Begone now.’ There is more action to it. A small change, but better, no?”

  A small change?

  To her play?

  Behind her, Silas pretended to sneeze, releasing the sound with the words, “Be careful.”

  Yes, be careful.

  Before she carved the duke up with her tongue and served him for nuncheon.

  Her hands hidden in the folds of her skirts had clenched into fists. She forced herself to stretch out her fingers. Winderton didn’t know he was being ridiculous. He actually thought he was helpful. That he had a right to be helpful—

  Be careful, careful, careful.

  She nodded to Silas that his message had been received. They’d been run out of the last village they’d visited; the vicar had not been pleased with Arlo stealing his daughter. They couldn’t afford to have that happen again.

  And yet, she could not give in.

  “Interesting suggestion, Your Grace,” she purred, using that tone men liked, the sound almost submissive. “I hesitate to share that if I make that change to the line, well then, when Nestor says his line about how crows are never to be trusted, your very appropriate, and interesting change, will not make sense. We need to look at this as a whole, don’t you agree?”

  His ducal eyebrows came together, warning Kate he was not going to give up easily. “Nestor? The Irishman, right? What is his exact line?”

  It took all her will for Kate to pleasantly say to Nestor, “Please speak it for His Grace, Mr. Fox.”

  The Irishman jumped into action. He did more than she asked. Apparently he believed he could command the situation better than herself. God save her from male arrogance, a prayer she had to repeat daily. The part had belonged to Arlo and Nestor seemed eager to prove he was the better actor.

  “I’m over here, Your Grace, pretending that I can’t be seen, but the crows know I’m there so I tell the audience, ‘A crow may think he’s a sharp-eyed one, but he lacks the instinct of the fox.’ Instinct, of course, is the important word.”

  “I see,” said Winderton.

  “I’m so glad,” Kate answered. “Now let us continue the rehearsal. Nestor, take your place again—”

  “I still don’t like the line,” the duke interjected.

  This time, Kate was direct. “This is not the time to change dialogue, Your Gr
ace.” She didn’t finish with a smile. She couldn’t. She had reached the end of what little tact she possessed. One more push and she’d push back. Hard.

  He must have caught a hint of her mood. “It was merely a suggestion.”

  She lifted a brow.

  His lips curved into an easy smile, his teeth white and straight. He’d probably conquered many a heart with that smile, and his title, and now he was using it on her.

  Kate was too old for nonsense. She had work to do. Turning to the Crows, she started to tell them exactly where she wanted them, except Winderton—right in front of everyone—leaned in close to whisper in her ear, “Come to the Cotillion Dance with me tonight. You said you would think about it, and I have given you more than ample time.”

  Over the past twenty-four hours of their very short acquaintance, he’d mentioned the dance a dozen times.

  She would not go. She was no fool. Her showing up on Winderton’s arm would cause a small scandal. And since, thanks to Arlo, she’d just left one, she’d rather not indulge in another.

  Silas had disagreed, as had others in the troupe. “Granted you’ll have tongues wagging. But then everyone for miles around will rush to the performance to have a closer look at you. And there you will be—our Juno.” Juno was the role she played in the fables. “Besides,” Silas continued, “you deserve a spot of fun. You can’t keep your guard up forever.”

  Who said she couldn’t?

  Silas was male. He would never be able to comprehend how much of their souls men expected from women.

  “The parish dance?” she repeated as if she’d not heard the duke mention it before. A guffaw sounded from the usually quiet John and she could have boxed the man’s ears.

  Winderton acted oblivious to anyone but her. He moved closer. “Miss Addison, you can’t refuse me. Not after all I’ve done for you.”

  That was the wrong thing to say.

  But she’d not take him down a peg publicly. Instead, she took his hand, laced her fingers in his, and drew him away. He came willingly . . . like a lamb to the slaughter.

  Some seventy feet from the tent was a large sheltering oak tree, which stood out from all the others. Its branches were so long and weighty they almost touched the ground. It was a good place to hide from eager ears and eyes.

  The duke followed her docilely enough, ducking his head to go under the branches. He straightened when they reached the tree trunk. “Don’t turn me down about the dance. I won’t accept it.”

  She raised his hand she held and confessed, “I must.” She gave him a light, reassuring squeeze and then attempted to release her hold.

  He wouldn’t let her. “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “Because of what others think?” He laughed. “I make my own rules.”

  How simple life was for the entitled.

  “You barely know me, Your Grace—”

  “What I know I like—very much. I’ve just spent the morning with you. I’m not here because I am not interested—”

  “I am well aware that you are interested, Your Grace—”

  “Then say ‘yes.’” He stepped toward her, his booted toe touching the tip of her shoe. “Say, ‘I would be honored to attend the dance on your arm, Your Grace.’ See? It is easy to give me the answer I wish.”

  It had been ages since Kate had allowed any man this close. The young duke smelled of cloves and the open air. He was taller than Kate, which was unusual. She looked most men in the eye. She’d had to duck under those branches as well.

  “Your Grace, I am not good at this.”

  “What? Refusing invitations? Then don’t. Or being told that you are lovely?” He attempted to pull her closer.

  “I’m as vain as the next woman and I am also realistic,” she answered, trying again to retrieve her hand without yanking.

  “I am pragmatic as well and I merely state the truth. It isn’t vanity to recognize that you are a beauty.”

  Kate was annoyed. “You are being ridiculous. I am as old as a crone when compared to you.”

  “Age is not an impediment to attraction.”

  Oh, he believed he was silver-tongued. “It is when I am old enough to be your mother.”

  “We both know that is not true. I am almost one and twenty.”

  “Dear Lord, you are younger than I thought—”

  “Then don’t think. Feel. Embrace what could be between us.” In turn, he tried to embrace her. Kate ducked under his arm, the movement forcing him to release her hand. Thank, God.

  “Miss Addison, listen to me,” he said, reaching for her again.

  “No. I don’t want to hear it.” She stepped back to ward him off.

  “And what do you believe I’m going to say?”

  “It doesn’t matter, because you truly are an innocent. You are sincere, so I must save you from yourself.”

  “I don’t want to be saved. I have been waiting for you all my life.”

  “Yes, all your twenty years.”

  “Age is only a number,” he countered. “Besides, I’m wise beyond my years. At least wise enough to recognize that you are not like any other woman I have known and therefore worth pursuing.”

  She could scream.

  “Your Grace, I built this troupe from my own hard work.”

  “And I admire what you have done.”

  “You don’t know what I’ve done.” She spoke with the annoyance of a big sister. “You can’t possibly understand how hard I battled to reach this point. To overcome the people who would not take me seriously, who attempted to undermine me every step of the way.”

  Annoyance crossed his face, and there it was—proof that, no matter how earnest, he was like any other man of her acquaintance. Well, except for Silas. She trusted Silas.

  “I don’t think you understand me,” Winderton said quietly with great drama. “I’m in love with you.”

  Kate could have laughed. She’d heard that before as well. Men wanted what they could not have. She drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I thank you for the compliment, Your Grace. Unfortunately, I am not searching for love.”

  “I thought love was what we all want.”

  “Especially women?”

  He stiffened. “Don’t treat me as if I am naïve. Nor am I jaded like so many of my contemporaries. When I first saw you yesterday, my heart burst. There is no other word for it. I burst with love for you.”

  But Kate was so jaded that she didn’t believe him. What she suspected was that he’d had a “burst” of lust, something very different from love. Lust could make men do irresponsible and astounding things . . . including lashing out at those they purported to “love.” Still he was young, and she knew he’d mistaken lust for love. He didn’t yet know the difference.

  He took a step closer; she stepped back and hit the trunk of the tree. She had little room to move. He looked down at her, his expression intent. “I can’t believe you don’t feel what I do. You must. Or else you are lying to yourself. Trust me, Miss Addison—Kate.” He said her given name as if testing it and finding he liked it. “Trust what is between us, Kate.” He leaned toward her, his lips puckering—

  She gracefully stepped aside and avoided those lips. “Your Grace, I cannot.”

  “Because you won’t believe.”

  There was that. And men never liked hearing she didn’t share their feelings.

  The one thing that worked was a crisp telling of the truth. “My place is on the stage. I was born to it. My mother was an actress and her mother before her. I will not let anything or anyone stop me from going to London. It may surprise you to learn that I was once lauded as the most talented actress in the city. And then my opportunities were stolen from me. I was disgraced, humiliated.” Betrayed.

  Bile rose in her at the memories. She’d been such a goose back then. She was wiser now.

  “I go to London to reclaim my place on the stage, and no one will ever chase me off again. I’ll look the devil in the eye, if I mus
t, and he’d best be afraid.” Her words gave her strength.

  Winderton listened with unwavering gray eyes. Eyes that seemed to tickle a memory in her. “Do you believe me afraid of strong women? I’ll be right beside you to meet the devil.”

  His offer startled her. He would take up her cause? For a second, she believed him—it had something to do with his haunting eyes—until he added, “Come to the dance with me.”

  And then she knew the truth. He hadn’t heard a word she’d said. Men were infuriating—

  “No, don’t deny me outright,” he cautioned, as if he believed he could read her mind. “Think on my request. It is a simple one. I will wait for your answer.”

  “But you won’t accept a no?”

  “That is right.” He punctuated his words with a roguish grin that brought out a charming dimple and began walking out of their forest hideaway. Kate followed.

  “You are a dreamer, Your Grace.”

  “That I am. I dream of you.” They were out from under the tree’s limbs. “Send word when you are ready to say yes.”

  “That won’t happen.”

  “It might.” He walked the distance to the tents and picked up his hat off the trunk where he’d set it earlier. He placed it on his head at a rakish angle, and then untied his horse from a tree branch. He mounted. With a wink at her and a cocksure wave to her actors, he was on his way.

  Silas sauntered over to her. “He acted happy when he left.”

  “You know me better than that. Come, we have much work to do.” She clapped her hands toward the others. “Places. Let us rehearse ‘Mr. Fox and the Crows’ twice more. Then we will do Silas’s prologue followed by ‘Country Mouse and City Mouse.’ Later, while we build the stage, Robbie and Jess, you will take some handbills around and spread the word of tomorrow’s performances.”

  “Going to the dance on the duke’s arm would spread the news fast enough that we are here,” Nestor commented.

  Kate didn’t bother looking at him. Her coldness didn’t deter the Irishman. He added slyly, “Who knows? He seems taken. Isn’t a duke who all you women dream about?”