A Reckless Desire (41 page)

She smiled, thinking of the harmless, rickety trick knife with the spring-loaded blade. “Not for the sake of a play, I won't.”

He smiled, too, with relief. “Then go change for your death scene,” he said. “But mind that I'll be watching you.”

She left, and quickly shifted into her last costume: Juliet's white linen burial-clothes. The other actors saw and understood her mood, and kept their distance, nor did they speak to her, leery of breaking her concentration and the spell of her performance. By the time she'd returned to the stage and climbed onto the painted wooden box that served as her marble tomb, she was once again firmly in the grip of her character.

She lay there as the scene played out around her, her eyes closed and her hands folded over her breasts. She heard the scrape of the mock swords, the deaths of Paris and Romeo, the bustling horror of Friar Laurence, and yet all she thought of was Rivers.

She'd tried to be so noble, giving him his freedom for true happiness, but she hadn't realized how painful it would be to watch him find that happiness with another woman. Now she realized that she'd never love another man the way she had—no, she still—loved Rivers, but all the regret in the world couldn't change what she'd done.

It was, quite simply, too late.

By the time Juliet awoke and saw the horror of her dead Romeo, Lucia's grief was raw and eloquent, her few lines achingly poignant. Frantically she kissed Mr. Lambert, her portly Romeo, found the false dagger and raised it high. She barely heard the gasps and alarm of the audience as she stabbed herself with heartrending anguish, and fell across Mr. Lambert's body.

That was the end of Juliet. All she'd need do now was lie still and pretend to be dead, the hardest part of the play. She was thankful that her hair had trailed over her face like a veil as she'd fallen, for tears were still sliding down her cheeks, her emotions so mixed that she could not stop them.

As soon as the curtain fell, Mr. Lambert immediately sat upright.

“Are you all right?” he asked anxiously. “Faith, I've never seen such a Juliet as that!”

She nodded, recovering with great, shuddering gulps of air and dashing away her tears with the heel of her hand.

“I—I am,” she said. “It's done now, isn't it? It's done.”

She meant not only the play, but what she'd had with Rivers, too. All of it was done.

“Indeed it is,” Mr. Lambert said, helping her to stand. “Come, the audience is wild for you. Are you recovered sufficiently for your bows?”

She nodded, and forced herself to smile. No matter how she felt, the audience was expecting Mrs. Willow. They didn't know about Rivers and his soon-to-be wife, nor did they care, and now she must try to do the same. The cheers and applause were deafening, the loudest she could recall, and as she curtseyed yet again, she realized for the first time she hadn't looked to the first tier boxes for Rivers before the play.

Maybe it truly was done after all…

The tiring room was even more crowded than usual, with far too many people crushing into the small space. She was greeted with more applause as admirers pushed forward to congratulate her. She tried to smile, but tonight she had no patience with their slavering praise. Tonight it meant nothing to her. All she wished was to be left alone.

She was only half-aware of a scuffle near the door, of one more man pushing his way into the room.

“Lucia!” Rivers called. “Lucia, here!”

Shocked, she turned toward his voice, unsure whether she'd imagined it or not. “Rivers? Why are you here?”

“Lucia,” he said, holding his arms out to clear his path.

The crowd recognized him and melted back to give him room. He was rumpled and mussed, his golden hair falling across his face and his clothing without its usual neatness, yet he was still impossibly handsome, impossibly perfect to her. She forgot the lady he was supposed to be marrying, the cruel things she'd overheard his father say, how she'd tried to be noble and failed. None of that mattered now. This time he'd brought no flowers, but he didn't need them. His smile was more than enough for her as he held out his hand to her.

“Lucia,” he said again, and the din around him faded as the others listened and craned their necks. “You were—you are—magnificent.”

She smiled, and realized she was crying again. That was what he always said to her, and she answered the way she always did, too.

“Truly, Rivers?” she asked, her voice squeaking upward. “Truly?”

“Yes, truly,” he said. “And yes, you made them all cry, just as you're crying now.”

“I cannot help it,” she said, her smile wobbling. “It's seeing you here.”

“Ahh,” he said, that familiar, slightly-grumpy noise that he used to fill time while he thought of what to say next. Oh, how much she'd missed him, every part of him! “So you made your audience cry, and now I've done the same to you.”

“Yes,” she said, every bit as foolish as he. “That is, I am very glad that you came here tonight.”

“I'd a reason for doing so,” he said, and to her shock, he sank down on his knee before her. “An excellent reason. You see, I've found it's quite impossible for me to live without you. I love you that much. Mrs. Willow. Miss di Rossi. My own Lucia. Will you marry me?”

Now she was the one at a loss for words. She gasped, stunned, her heart beating so fast that it drummed out everything else. She had never imagined this, never expected this, and most certainly never wanted this—this
disaster.

Everyone in the room seemed to be holding their collective breath, waiting for her reply. Rivers's smile widened, certain she was simply too overwhelmed to reply—which, of course, she was, though not for the reason he believed.

Oh, how much she loved him when he gazed up at her like this!

“Please say yes, Lucia.” He took her hand and kissed it, not letting it go. “Please be my wife.”

She gulped, her eyes brimming with fresh emotion. There was only one possible answer to give now, only one, and she gave it.

“No, Rivers,” she said. “No.”

“
No
?”
Rivers repeated
,
the single word echoing as if in a cold and empty cave. How in blazes could she refuse him? He'd offered her his heart, his title, his world. He'd done the honorable thing, the only thing, and yet she'd rejected it all. “Lucia, I love you, and you love me, and I want nothing more than—”

“No,” she said again, more firmly this time, and scattered tears as she shook her head. “No.”

He only half-heard the low, collective groan of disappointment and commiseration from those watching, and a single woman clicking her tongue with dismay. Awkwardly he rose to his feet, still clutching Lucia's hand. He felt foolish and ashamed, confused and distraught and furious, too, but most of all he felt as wounded as if she'd taken a sword and cut him to the quick. Damnation, he loved her, and she loved him. They were
meant
to marry, and be together always.

Weren't they?

“I wish to speak to you alone,” he said. “There must be some more private place than this.”

“My dressing room,” she said, reluctantly. “But there's nothing more that—”

“Come with me,” he said tersely, pulling her through the crowd and down the narrow hall. “Which one's yours?”

“The last,” she said. “Rivers, please, I—”

“Not until we're alone,” he said, leading her into the tiny dressing room and slamming the door shut. No doubt the crowd was already rushing to follow them and listen shamelessly outside the door, but at least he wouldn't have to see their looks of pity. When he finally released her hand, she immediately pulled it back, rubbing her wrist. He hadn't intended to hurt her—he'd never wish to do that—and guilt and remorse jumped in to join the rest of his turbulent emotions.

“I won't change my mind,” she said defiantly. Now she was angry, too, and in a way that was better. “You can't make me marry you, Rivers.”

“I'd never force you to do anything,” he said. “But you can't expect me to leave you without a decent explanation.”

“Because it would be wrong for both of us,” she said quickly, too quickly. “Because I could never make you happy, not the way you deserve.”

“Shouldn't I be the judge of that, Lucia?” he demanded, his voice rising with urgency. “When we are together, you have made me happier than I've ever been before, and more miserable when we've been apart.”

She took another step away from him, her back against the bare wall as she hugged her arms defensively to her body. Yet her eyes were dark and challenging, her earlier tears now dried to murky streaks on her face paint.

“You are a gentleman, the son of a duke,” she said. “You could never have an actress for a wife.”

“I'd be the most selfish bastard on earth if I tried to stop you from acting,” he said, and he meant it. “I saw you tonight. How could I wish to put an end to your talent, your gifts? I'll gladly share you with your audiences for performances as Mrs. Willow, if the rest of the time I can have you to myself as my wife. Will that do? Will that be enough?”

He smiled, coaxing, and believing he'd won. But her expression only darkened, and he realized there was still more to come.

“On our last day at the Lodge,” she said, “I heard what your father said to you outside in the garden. He called me a ‘creature.' I heard how angry he was with you for taking me to the Hall, and having me drink tea with Her Grace and the others.”

His hopes plummeted. So this was it. Blast, why hadn't she said something about this before now?

“I'm sorry you heard that,” he said. “My father is accustomed to speaking directly, no matter how it might wound others.”

She looked down and shook her head, her long, loose hair falling over her face. Her arms were still clutched defensively around her body, and he hated to think that she needed to protect herself against him.

“If you heard my father,” he said more gently, “then you also heard how I countered every hateful thing he said about you.”

“But your father was right, Rivers,” she said sorrowfully. “I can't make you happy, not in the ways that would matter to you. I didn't belong at Breconridge Hall, and I don't belong with you.”

“Yes, you do,” he insisted. “
We
belong together, and nothing anyone says—”

“No, Rivers, please, I beg you,” she interrupted. She finally looked up again, the pain in her dark eyes unmistakable. “This is exactly what your father meant. You are so honorable, so loyal, that you would stand by me against the entire world, and I love you all the more for it.”

“I would indeed,” he said. “Why wouldn't I do that for the woman I love, and wish to have as my wife?”

She shook her head again, her earlier anger gone and her misery palpable. “Because no matter how much you love me, you loved your family first, and I could never make you choose between us. Your father, your brothers, your sisters-in-law and their children—they're all a part of you that I could never replace by myself.”

“That's foolishness, Lucia,” he said. True, his father would be furious, but his brothers and their wives would happily share their joy. “I would never expect that of you.”

“Wouldn't you?” She uncurled one hand and placed it on his chest as she tried to make him understand. “Your father thinks I'm no better than a slatternly gypsy. If we wed against his will, you'd lose him and the rest of your family, and no matter how hard you fought it, in time you'd come to resent and despise me for it.”

Loving her as he did, he knew she believed what she said. It wasn't a dramatic exaggeration for her.

“I'm a grown man, Lucia,” he said firmly, placing his hand over hers. “I make my own decisions, and I have an income and property, and a life and interests of my own as well. I do not need my father to choose my wife for me. As soon as either Gus or Serena bears a son, I'll cease to be of any interest to him whatsoever.”

“That isn't true,” she said wistfully. “He loves you too much for that. You are fortunate to have such a father, Rivers. He may have no use for me, but you'll always be his son, and he cares for you whether you're his heir or not. I'd never, ever wish to come between the two of you.”

He looked down at his hand across hers, her small fingers resting on his breast. He found it difficult to agree with her regarding his father, but then he had to remember that she'd no parents or siblings of her own, and that she'd never had the security of his two older brothers. All she had now was him, and he was determined to do whatever he must for her sake.

He sighed, and linked his hand into hers. “Tell me,” he said softly. “Would you marry me if we had my father's blessing?”

“Yes,” she said at once and with gratifying conviction. “Oh, Rivers, yes.”

“Then we'll go to him now,” he said. Unlike his older brothers, he could recall challenging his father outright only a handful of times in his life. He'd never once won, either. But this was different; for Lucia's sake, this time he was determined to come away with what he wanted.

She gasped, her eyes wide with surprise. “Now? It must be nearly midnight, Rivers.”

“Now,” he said firmly. He pulled his watch from his pocket to check the time. Father's habits were as punctually predictable as his own, and Rivers knew he wouldn't retire for the night for at least another hour. “I'd rather not have to rouse him from his bed.”

She smiled, too, an endearingly wobbly smile. “You are certain?”

“I am certain of this, and everything else as well.” He smiled and drew her close, her body warm and soft against his. He felt instantly better, and having a plan that would join them together forever made him feel better still, and when he kissed her, he could tell she shared both his eagerness, and his excitement.

Reluctantly he broke the kiss and smiled down at her. Dressed all in white with her dark hair trailing over her shoulders, she looked younger than she was, and impossibly beautiful. “We must go now, sweetheart,” he said. “There will be time enough for this later.”

She nodded. “Your father,” she said, but that wasn't the reason.

“Not at all,” he said, and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “It's that I don't wish to wait a moment longer than I must to make you my wife.”

A half hour later, after a breakneck ride in a hackney, Lucia found herself hurrying through the front hall of Breconridge House with Rivers's hand firmly clasped around hers. He had only given her time to wash the paint from her face, and she still wore her loose-fitting Juliet costume, her hair unpinned.

Rivers was striding so purposefully that she had to trot to keep pace with him, bunching her long skirts with her free hand so she wouldn't trip as they began up the stairs. She'd only a passing impression of the hall, of a great many candles and gilding and a marble floor that was chilly beneath her slippered feet, the same extravagance that she remembered from Breconridge Hall.

“Almost there,” Rivers said as they reached the first floor. “At this hour, they'll be in the Green Parlor, listening to Celia play.”

“They?” she asked, surprised. She realized she'd been picturing the duke sitting alone, waiting for them like some sort of awful judge. “There will be others there, too?”

“Only family,” Rivers said, smiling. “My stepmother, Celia, of course, and my brothers as well as Gus and Serena. We always dine together here
en famille
on Thursday evenings. Except I left early tonight to see you instead.”

In return her smile was tight, a sorry attempt to hide her anxiety. She'd much rather they declared their love for each other before a full house at the theater than face his family like this.

“It will be fine, Lucia,” Rivers said, sensing her uneasiness. “I'll make Father understand, and we're not leaving until he agrees.”

She rolled her eyes. “
Santo cielo,
I should like to see that.”

“You will,” he promised. He stopped before a closed door, and raised her hand to kiss it with the gallantry that always made her heart flutter. “I swear to it.”

From inside the room came the muffled notes of a harpsichord, jangling and discordant to her ears, and she sighed with dismay. Wasn't this evening difficult enough for her without adding music, too? The footman at the door murmured a greeting to Rivers, clearly expecting him to give Lucia's name so she might be announced.

“There's no need, Willis,” Rivers said. “I'll present Miss di Rossi myself.”

The footman nodded and opened the door for them, and before she could hang back Rivers was leading her into the room, forward to the bright ring of candles at the far end, before the tall windows. She recognized Celia, sitting at the harpsichord's bench, and Serena, sitting beside her to turn the pages. Standing nearby with a glass in his hand was a dark-haired gentleman who so strongly resembled Rivers that Lucia knew he must be his brother Geoffrey. Though obviously surprised, those three were smiling warmly in welcome.

But the last person in the room was not.

Lucia swallowed a small gasp as the Duke of Breconridge turned toward them. He was every bit as formidable as she'd imagined he'd be, and impeccably dressed in a dark velvet suit that gleamed with golden embroidery. There was lace at his wrist and throat, a large emerald on his finger, and an elegantly curled and powdered wig on his head. While he still possessed the same handsome features that he'd passed on to his sons, his were set and world-weary. He had the well-bred yet jaded face of a man who had spent the majority of his life having everything exactly as he wished, and his expression was confident that that would not change now.

She forced herself to keep her gaze level and not look away. She'd met him once before, though then she hadn't realized he was Rivers's father. Did he remember, too, or would he pretend he'd forgotten?