Blood for Ink (The Scarlet Plumiere Series #1) (21 page)

By not assigning a name to her feelings, she’d hoped they might dissipate. As long as she did not call it love, it would not be love. And her life would go on, enriched by the memory of friends, but it would go on, as planned. Straight forward. It was the only caper left on the plate.

“We have to split up into two sets of four, I am afraid,” Stanley was saying.

Someone grabbed her arm in a tight squeeze. Stanley looked in her direction, noticed who had claimed her and laughed. "Looks like Anna and Livvy are inseparable. Northwick, you and Mother with Irene and me.” He passed tickets to Ashmoore and Harcourt.

“Oh, thank heavens,” Anna whispered in her ear. "If I had to sit with Miss Goodfellow, someone would get her eyes scratched out and I am afraid it might have been me.”

Livvy swallowed her disappointment. Who knew if she would get a chance to see Northwick again before she returned to her cage? But she consoled herself with the pleasure of finally being in the company of another woman. She was also grateful she would not be forced to listen to Irene Goodfellow abusing The Scarlet Plumiere. If that came to a cat fight, Irene might not come out the winner.

She checked the length of her nails and laughed when she realized what she was doing.

The first act of the
opera buffa
was not long, but it seemed so. There was no
libretta
for translating the words, and the patter song was so fast and so poorly articulated, she would not have been able to follow along in any case. It was all just an excuse to complain to herself, of course. When one dearly wanted to turn and look at someone in another box, it did not matter what was happening on stage. Mozart himself could have been leading the musicians and she would not have given a fig.

Face forward
, she told herself a hundred times before intermission.

“You are missing a terrible comedy, my dear. Someone on your mind?” Anna looked over her shoulder at her, then beyond her. Then she held a fan innocently before her mouth. "Would you like to know what North is doing at the moment?”

She clutched Anna’s hand. "Is it so obvious?”

“Only to me, because I was one of those to witness your last farewell, my dear. Remember?” Anna gave her hand a squeeze. "No one would suppose I am watching him. He is just past your ear.”

Olivia’s hand rose and checked her hair just where Anna seemed to be looking.

“Lovely pearls, by the way.”

“They were my mother’s.”

“And he just looked our way when you moved your arm. You mustn’t do it again. He really needs to avoid watching your every move.”

“What is he doing now?”

“He is being lectured by Winnie. Smiling now. Nodding. Now he is frowning and folding his arms.” Anna laughed discreetly. "Winnie just winked at me. She was a witness too remember? We are all here to help.”

“Help what?”

“Help you and North marry, of course.”

“Marry!” She closed her eyes to block out the image of herself and North standing at the altar in St. James’, but she failed miserably. "He will have to find someone else to marry. I am not available.”

“Oh, but we were afraid of that.” Anna began to ply her fan in earnest.

“Of what?”

“That you have fallen for Ashmoore.”

“She has done no such thing.” Ashmoore bent forward and whispered harshly. "And if I can hear you, others may hear you as well. Anna, turn ‘round and give these singers their due, would you? And leave poor Livvy alone.”

Anna gave him a fierce frown, then whispered, "We will finish this at intermission.”

“Anna!” Ashmoore tugged on the woman’s hair and she turned back to the stage. Apparently the dark earl had adopted more than one sister.

She fought the urge to giggle and tried to focus on the entertainment. A tenor was having a difficult time remembering his words and signaled to another man to come replace him.

It only reminded her of Northwick, how he was only too happy to let Ashmoore protect her in his stead. She was sorely tempted to tug on Anna’s hair herself and demand to know what the man was doing at that moment, if he might be staring at her. Then suddenly, the music ended. The audience broke into applause, probably showing more gratitude for the reprieve than the actual performance, or an enthusiasm for possible refreshments.

Livvy stood gracefully, not popping out of her seat as she wanted to do. By the time she pulled her skirts to the side and turned, Northwick was gone. So was Winnie. She would not have expected the older woman to move so quickly.

She looked to Ashmoore. He rolled his eyes, then offered his arm.

“It is a good thing North is a much better actor than you are an actress. Hopefully he is being watched more carefully than you are, but I doubt it. Not in that dress. I do not know what I was thinking.”

“I am glad you chose the color, my lord. Northwick suggested puce for this dress.”

He leaned close, since the hallway was filling.

“Only because he does not wish other men to appreciate you, my dear.”

“You jest.”

“I never jest.” He frowned. “That is not true, actually. I rarely jest.”

“Fie, sir. You have a terrific wit. Your frown is your disguise.”

“Oh, I hope that is not true. I am trying to live up to my reputation and you are telling me it is all in my frown? The very idea should frighten you.”

“Yes. It should. Perhaps Lord Northwick might be a better man for the job after all.”

He looked at her sharply. “I wish he had heard you say that.”

At the top of the stairs, they stopped. The formally dressed mob had filled the foyer and the flow of the room was clogged at the head of the refreshment table. Twenty men waited anxiously to fetch punch for their companions. Until they had fulfilled their gentlemanly duty, the rest of the crowd would have to sort itself out, or wait. Livvy did not mind. She had quite a view from where she stood.

Northwick and Winnie must have left their box before the music ended to have gotten as far as they had. In fact, they were nearly back to the area where their little group had gathered before the performance. Was he hoping she and Ashmoore would be able to join them? Would they indeed have a chance for a word or two after all?

Judging from the crush on the stairs below her, she would never reach the bottom before they would be expected to return to their seats! Was the other staircase as crowded? Alas, it was. They might as well return to their box, but she could not bear to give up a chance to merely watch the man from across the room without the crowd being the wiser.

A gentleman stood near Northwick with a lovely woman on his arm. The back of her head was a cascading mass of auburn curls. The most prominent of her curves were currently aimed at the earl. There could only be one woman in all of London who looked like that. Livvy was a little surprised to see her at so public a function where most men had their wives on their arms.

“Ursula.”

Ashmoore leaned down as she stood on the step below him. “You know her then?”

“She insisted on meeting. Lady M arranged it.” Quarters were far too cramped to even be discussing such a thing. But as she glanced around, she realized she had been boxed in by Everhardt, Ian and Ashmoore. The railing lay to her right. Peter glanced up from halfway down the steps, but his eyes skimmed the crowd and never actually rested on her.

“I must say, my lord, that I have not given your friends nearly the respect they deserve.”

“My friends?”

“These friends.” She pointed a sly finger at Ian’s back.

“I am sure they will be delighted to hear it. But what about me? Am I safe to return to my bed?”

“Of course, my lord.”

“And what of the crumbs?”

“I cannot imagine to what you refer.”

“Innocent until the end, eh, Miss Reynolds?”

“
Moi
?” She batted her eyes and laughed. Then she sobered when she saw Northwick lean down and kiss Ursula on the cheek. In public. He had kissed her in public! And dear Aunt Winnie stood next to him, laughing! With the former mistress of her own son! Had the world gone mad?

“If it helps,” Ashmoore murmured in her ear, “he owed her a kiss.”

She swallowed, looked away. Tapped her foot five times. Looked back.

“Owed her? She had given him too many and he needed to return one?”

Finally, she had to turn her back. She hung on to Ashmoore’s hands to control herself.

“I would like to go home, my lord.”

“You cannot mean it. Would you like to go somewhere else?”

She studied him, standing there, all tall and handsome, his lips the first thing she noticed each time she looked up at him.

“Livvy.” It was a warning she did not care to hear.

“I want you to kiss me, Ashmoore. Please.”

“What good will it do, besides create a new scandal for the papers in the morning?”

“I will feel better for it. I know I will. And he will feel worse. That is reason enough.”

Ashmoore looked past her.

“But he is not even watching, Livvy.”

“As soon as he is, then.”

“Damn it!” Ashmoore frowned at her, then dipped his head. He tried to pull back quickly, but she pulled on his lapel a heartbeat more. Then another. Then she let him go.

Ashmoore turned and began pulling one of her hands. She looked over her shoulder, down into the foyer. Just as she found Northwick glaring in her direction, the crowd blocked her view, filling in the wake left by her passing.

She was wrong. It did not make her feel better at all.

“Where did you go? We tried to find you.” Anna took her seat, then leaned forward to take a peek beyond Livvy’s stiff shoulder. “Dear lord, Olivia. What have you done to the man?”

She could only shake her head. The tears came as soon as the lights dimmed. She cried all through the second act. Ashmoore finally took her home.

The earl insisted on escorting her to her room. For a moment she worried the man had been influenced somehow by their kiss, but refused to imagine the possibilities. The situation was complicated enough. She had been out of her mind to insist he kiss her!

She reached for her door, but he took her chin and urged her to face him. Begrudgingly, she looked up. He was laughing at her in his quiet, slightly smirking way.

“Oh, Livvy. What am I to do with you?” Rather than kiss her, however, he pulled her against his chest and enveloped her in his large arms, then proceeded to hug her until she squeaked. “I should murder you for torturing North and forcing me to be party to it. He will not forgive it easily. I shall have to allow him to beat me bloody a time or two, but at least now we know for sure, eh?”

“What is it we know for sure?” She could only whisper with what breath she had saved in the bottom of her lungs.

“That he is madly in love with you. Only I am the one who will suffer in the end.” He released her, then tapped his finger on her chin. “You would have never been so cruel to even The Rat, you know. So when all this is over, you are going to make it up to him.”

“When all this is over, all this will be over. I will not marry him. I will not cease acting as The Plumiere.”

“Ah, but you will. You have no choice in the matter.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Forget for a moment the rest of us will threaten to expose you if you refuse him.”

Her mouth dropped open and she forgot it altogether. They wouldn’t!

“It is your own heart that will not allow it, Livvy. Your heart will give you no choice whatsoever.” He reached out and wiped away a tear she’d not noticed shedding. “We will just be patient for a while longer, shall we?”

He opened her door, made a thorough check of her room, then bid her goodnight.

Stella helped her out of her dress, then left her alone.

Livvy removed her mother’s pearls and curled them into a little pile. She stared at them as she brushed out her hair. Try as she might, she could not remember much of Ashmoore’s kiss. She did remember having to pull on his lapel to make sure it made an impression on Northwick. Thanks to her antics, though, all the newspapers would enjoy a swift business in the morning.

A noise came from her window. She froze, listening. She had promised Ashmoore she would do a better job of screaming the next time someone surprised her, so she took a deep breath to do just that.

“Did he kiss you goodnight as well?”

She jumped from her seat and turned to face her handsome intruder.

“Lord Northwick!” She clutched her brush to her chest. “How did you get past the guards?”

“You think they would stop me? We are on the same side, remember?” He walked toward her, slowly. His foot lifted above the edge of her thick floral rug as if he had walked the room a dozen times and knew what should be avoided. That rug had been there for years and even she forgot at times, until she was flying toward the foot of her bed.

“
They will tell Ashmoore.”

He paused, removed his jacket, then tossed it on the bed.

“I do not particularly fear the man at the moment. I am much more afraid of you.”

He lied. He did not look the least bit frightened.

“Then perhaps you should go. I am hardly dressed for—”

“Do not fret. I will stay but a moment.”

“You will?” How could she possibly sound more disappointed?

He laughed, though quietly.

“I need to do only one thing, then I will be on my way.”

“One thing?” She did not like the sound of that. “Slit my throat, maybe?”

“Never. Though your throat may be involved.”

Her mind flew back to that encounter in the darkness at Madame Bouchard’s. He had done lovely things to her neck then. And she had been completely at his mercy!

She edged sideways, toward the door. He took two quick steps to head her off, so she started backing toward the dressing room. She could get inside, close the door quickly, hold tight to the handle while she screamed for help.

He spared a glance behind her.

“You will never make it. Time to surrender, Livvy.”

“Never.” She held her brush out between them like a sword. He paused. For a moment, she thought she had won.