Because You're Mine (5 page)

The theater company was like a large family, with all the internal squabbling that could be expected of an extended group. Especially intriguing was the colorful assortment of contract players. It seemed to Madeline that actors were far more interesting and flamboyant than normal people, talking and joking with a frankness that shocked her. No matter what the subject of their conversation, it always seemed to include some mention of Mr. Scott. Clearly they all admired, even worshipped him, using him as the standard by which they measured everyone else.

As Madeline swept the floor of the greenroom and cleared away dirty teacups and plates, she listened to a discussion between some of the Capital's most popular players, about what made people fall in love.

“It's not what you project,” said Arlyss Barry, a petite, curly-haired comic actress. “It's what you
don't
show. Mr. Scott, for example. Watch him in any role he plays, and you'll see that he always holds something back. It's the mystery of a person that makes you want him, or her.”

“Are we talking about the stage or real life?” asked Stephen Maitland, the blond gentleman who had accidently stabbed Mr. Scott during the fencing match.

“There's a difference?” Charles Haversley, another young contract player, asked in pretend confusion, and they all laughed.

“In this case, no,” Arlyss Barry said. “People always want what they can't have. The audience falls in love with a leading man because he'll never belong to any of them. In real life, it's the same. There's not a man or woman alive who wouldn't fall in love with someone who is out of their reach.”

Madeline stopped nearby with the broom and dustpan in hand. “I'm not certain I agree,” she said thoughtfully. “I'm not very well-versed in such matters, but…if someone were very kind to you, and made you feel safe and loved…wouldn't one find that attractive?”

“I don't know,” Charles said with a rakish grin. “Perhaps you should test your theory on me, Maddy, and we'll see if it works.”

“I believe Maddy is already testing it on someone else,” Arlyss said slyly, laughing as she saw Madeline blush. “Forgive me, dear…we all like to tease each other. You'll have to get used to it, I'm afraid.”

Madeline returned her smile. “Of course, Miss Barry.”

“On whom are you testing your theory?” Charles asked with great interest. “Don't say it's Mr. Scott?” He pretended to be indignant as he saw Maddy's blush deepen. “Why him and not me? Granted, he's rich, handsome, and famous…but what does he have besides that?”

Searching for a way to escape his teasing, Madeline began to employ the broom vigorously, sweeping her way out of the room and along the hall.

“Poor thing,” she heard Stephen say in a low tone. “He'll never take notice of her…far too sweet for him, anyway…”

Troubled, Madeline stopped sweeping and leaned against the doorway of an empty rehearsal room. After listening to the actors talk—and they were far more worldly-wise than she—Madeline was beginning to realize that she had made a mistake. She had approached Mr. Scott the wrong way, boldly announcing her intentions, making herself entirely available, preserving not a shred of mystery to entice him. No wonder he showed so little interest in her. But it was too late to change things.

Sighing deeply, Madeline wished there were someone, some wise and experienced woman, who could give her some badly needed advice. The duchess…but she would never condone Madeline's plans. Suddenly an idea came to her, and her brow cleared. Perhaps there
was
someone she could ask.

The sky was filled with murky clouds as the hired hack delivered Madeline to the house on Somerset. Mrs. Florence sat by the fire in the parlor grate with a supper tray. “My dear, you've returned later than I expected. Did they keep you terribly busy at the theater? You must be hungry. I'll send for another tray.”

Madeline nodded in thanks and sat by her, shivering as the warmth of the fire sank into her wool gown. At the elderly woman's bidding, Madeline related the events of the day, then stared into the fire. “Mrs. Florence, I would like to ask your advice about something, but I think you'll be shocked.”

“It is impossible to shock me, child. I've lived too long to be surprised at anything.” The elderly woman leaned forward, her eyes bright in her softly lined face. “Well, you've piqued my curiosity—don't keep me waiting.”

“I thought that with your experience…that is, your past knowledge…I wanted to ask you how…” Madeline paused and forced the words out. “I want to seduce a man.”

The elderly woman sat back, her eyes unblinking.

“I
have
shocked you,” Madeline said.

“‘Surprised’ is a better word, my dear. I wouldn't have expected such a question from you. Are you certain you know what you're doing? I shouldn't want you to make a mistake that you'll be ashamed of later on.”

“Mrs. Florence,” Madeline replied wryly, “in my entire life, I've never managed to do anything that I've truly been ashamed of.”

The elderly woman's eyes suddenly sparkled with amusement. “And you wish to remedy that?”

“Yes! Otherwise I'll have no character or spirit at all.”

“I disagree, my dear. You appear to have a good deal more character and spirit than the average person. However, if you're determined to carry out your intentions, I'll be happy to advise you. I know a great deal about men—or at least, I used to. I daresay they can't have changed very much in the last decade or two. Tell me, is there a particular man you want to seduce?”

“It's Mr. Scott, actually.”

“Ah.” Mrs. Florence stared at her for a long moment, her gaze penetrating and at the same time distant. It was as if some past memory had been recalled to her, one that she savored. “I don't blame you in the least,” she finally said. “I would seduce him if I were a pretty young girl like you.”

“Would you?” Madeline asked, surprised by the statement.

“Oh, indeed. It seems to me that Mr. Scott is one of the few men in England worth seducing. I wouldn't bother with the effeminate, self-absorbed creatures that pass for great lovers nowadays. I've never had the opportunity to meet Mr. Scott, unfortunately, but I have seen him on stage. The first time was five years ago. He played Iago in
Othello
…the most adept performance I've ever seen. Pure, seductive, silken evil. As an actor, he's worth any amount of admiration. As a man, he strikes me as rather dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Madeline repeated uneasily.

“Yes, to a woman's heart. Safe men are for marrying. Dangerous men are for pleasure. Just make certain you require nothing more of them than that.”

Madeline leaned forward. “Mrs. Florence, you won't tell anyone about what I'm planning?”

“Of course not. It's a highly private matter. Besides, there is no guarantee that you will succeed. From what I know of Logan Scott—and that is mostly hearsay from Julia—he doesn't prefer your kind. There are men with certain appetites that can be fulfilled only by very skilled women, and you…” She paused and viewed Madeline critically. “Something tells me that your repertoire is extremely limited.”

“I don't even have a repertoire,” Madeline said gloomily.

Mrs. Florence leaned her chin on a wrinkled hand. “That makes things a little more difficult. On the other hand, you have youth and beauty, and those shouldn't be underestimated.”

“The problem is, I've already made a mistake. I should have been mysterious and aloof…and instead I've made my intentions all too clear.”

“He knows that you desire him?” Mrs. Florence asked, seeming amused.

“Yes, and he's made it clear that he wants nothing to do with me.”

“Well, your straightforward approach wasn't necessarily a mistake,” Mrs. Florence commented. “One can assume that a man like Scott is entirely familiar with women who make subtle and sophisticated overtures. Perhaps you were right to throw him off balance.”

“Not only did I throw him off balance,” Madeline said sheepishly, “I ensured that he got stabbed in the process.”

“You did what?” Mrs. Florence asked, startled, and Madeline told her about the fencing accident. The elderly woman regarded her with a mixture of laughter and disbelief. “I'll say this, child…you've presented me with a challenge. Let me think for a moment.”

Madeline waited while the old woman contemplated the problem.

“It's a pity you have no acting skills,” Mrs. Florence said. “The place to approach a man like Scott is on the stage, where he's most at ease. I would suspect that he never lets down his guard except while he's acting. It is only during those moments of vulnerability that you would be able to slip past his defenses.”

“Perhaps I could offer to prompt some of the actors and actresses when they are learning their lines,” Madeline said hesitantly.

“Yes, that's an excellent idea.”

“But Mrs. Florence…what if I do manage to catch Mr. Scott in one of those ‘vulnerable moments’? What should I say to him?”

“Let your instincts guide you. Just bear in mind that you mustn't act lovestruck. Simply make it clear that you're available and willing…that you're offering pleasure with no responsibility. No man in the world could resist.”

Madeline nodded obediently.

“There's one more thing,” Mrs. Florence added, regarding her speculatively. “You'll need to dress for the part. Although you appear to have an attractive figure, one can hardly tell in those missish gowns.”

A resigned smile crossed Madeline's face. “I'm afraid that can't be helped, ma'am. I can't afford a new gown.”

“I'll give it some consideration,” the elderly woman assured her. “I'll think of something.”

Madeline smiled, admiring Mrs. Florence's crafty energy and enthusiasm. “I'm glad I asked for your advice, ma'am.”

“So am I, Maddy. This is the most excitement I've had in years, taking part in your scheme. With my help, you'll lead Mr. Scott to your bed like a lamb to the slaughter.”

“I hope so,” Madeline replied. “However…I don't imagine he'll be anything like a lamb.”

“That's for you to discover, my dear. In my experience, men are often different in bed than they are out of it. Actors are the most unpredictable lovers of all. One never knows when they're playing a part.” She turned a placid countenance toward the fire, plotting silently, while the maid brought Madeline a supper tray.

After the servant had left, Madeline spoke again. “Mrs. Florence, is there any way of knowing what to expect?”

The elderly woman looked at her questioningly, having lost the thread of the conversation.

“About how a man might be as a lover,” Madeline clarified.

“I think you'll be able to tell a great deal from the way he kisses you.” Suddenly Mrs. Florence seemed amused, and she toyed with a loose strand of her silvery-peach hair. “In fact, that's a very good idea. Why don't you surprise Mr. Scott with a kiss? That's a bold, stylish ploy. It will certainly intrigue him.”

“But how?…when?”

“I'll leave that to your imagination, Maddy. You'll find an appropriate moment.”

Surprise him with a kiss
. Mrs. Florence's mischievous suggestion hovered in Madeline's thoughts during the next day. There would
never
be an appropriate time to do such a thing. If only she had her older sister Justine's great beauty or Althea's cleverness. But she was terribly ordinary, and Mr. Scott was…unreachable.

She saw the effect he had on others, the crowds of aristocrats who gathered around his dressing room door after a performance, the actors and actresses who sought his advice. Everyone wanted something from him.
Even me
, Madeline thought in sheepish discomfort. She wanted the most personal service of all from him, and with any luck he would never know why.

In an effort to learn more about him, Madeline approached Arlyss Barry while she was having tea alone in the greenroom. Arlyss was a fountain of information. She knew intimate details about everyone in the company and loved to gossip about them all.

“You'd like to know more about Mr. Scott?” Arlyss asked, popping a sugared biscuit into her mouth. Although Mrs. Lyttleton grumbled about Arlyss's overly voluptuous figure, it seemed that Arlyss couldn't control her own sweet tooth. “So would we all, Maddy. Mr. Scott is the most fascinating man I've ever met, and the most difficult to know. He's fanatical about his privacy. He never invites anyone to his home. To my knowledge no one in the company has ever visited him there, except for the duchess.”

Madeline frowned. “Were Mr. Scott and the duchess ever—”

Arlyss shook her head, brown curls dancing. “They've always been too much alike, I suppose, both of them so in love with the theater that there was never room for anyone else. Then Julia met the duke, and…but that's another story. To answer your question: Julia and Mr. Scott were never romantically involved. She told me that Mr. Scott believes falling in love is the worst possible thing that could ever happen to him.”

“But why?”

Arlyss shrugged cheerfully. “That's the mystery of Mr. Scott. He's a bundle of secrets, that one.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer over her cup of tea. “I'll tell you something that few people know: Mr. Scott was the son of a tenant farmer. He never even went to school. Can you imagine it?”

“No, I…” Madeline was genuinely amazed. “He seems so cultured, so noble—”

“He seems that way,” Arlyss agreed. “But he's come from beginnings that would make yours and mine look like royalty. In fact, Julia once hinted to me that Mr. Scott was terribly mistreated—beaten and half-starved by his father. It's why his family never visits the theater or is allowed to watch a performance. He
pays
them to stay away from him.”

Madeline pondered the information, while Arlyss delved into the tin of biscuits. She tried to imagine Mr. Scott as a boy, living with poverty and abuse, and it was impossible to reconcile that picture with the powerful, self-assured owner of the Capital Theatre. He had assumed such godlike dimensions in the public's eyes—and her own—that she found it hard to believe he had escaped a past as humble as the one Arlyss had described.