Colorado Dawn (57 page)

Her cheeks flamed, and her throat tightened. He’d seen? Who else? Her hand went to her throat and tangled in her necklace.

A sneer smeared Philip’s mouth. “Still, you live and learn. I hope you don’t break his heart when this play is done and we move on to New York.”

“For your information, when
Jane Eyre
finishes its run, I’m not going to New York. I’ll be staying with that ‘goody-goody preacher’ who has asked me to marry him. And his name is Silas Hamilton. You may call him Reverend Hamilton.”

Fire shot into Philip’s eyes, and he put his hand flat on the door, pushing his way inside the dressing room and forcing her back. He closed the door behind him. “What are you talking about? You can’t possibly mean to stay in this backwater with that no-account pulpit pounder. What about New York? What about me?”

Anger sizzled in her veins at his maligning of Silas. “You don’t enter into this at all. And Silas isn’t a no-account. He’s worth a dozen of you with change left over, you arrogant toad. Now get out of here. You shouldn’t be in a lady’s dressing room.” She pointed to the door.

His scowl deepened, and she moistened her dry lips. Fury emanated from him in waves, and she backed up another step.

“Arrogant toad?” In two strides he crossed the small open space and grabbed her wrist. “So, you’ll share your favors with the preacher, but not with me? Well, if you won’t share, I’ll just take what I want.”

“Let me go, Philip. You’re going to regre—”

She understood his intent a fraction of a second before his lips came down on hers. His hand clamped on her jaw, and he pushed her up against the wall. Pummeling his shoulder with her free fist, she struggled to break the kiss, but he paid no heed to the blows, and she was pinned so effectively she couldn’t get a good swing. His lips squished against hers, and his hands maintained their iron grip. His solid body blocked any escape attempt, pressing against her.

Why didn’t someone come? Where was Francine?

Silas. Where are you, Silas?

Tears stung her eyes. Keeping her lips rigid, she let herself go limp, hoping to catch Philip off guard. He raised his head and stroked the hair at her temple. “That’s it, my sweet. I knew you’d give in to me if you just gave yourself the chance.”

Gathering all her strength, she shoved against his chest, forcing him backward using the wall for leverage. “I’ll never give in to you. If you ever lay a hand on me again, I’ll scream.” She bolted for the door, but her feet tangled in her hem, slowing her down.

Philip grabbed her around the waist and flung her down on the chaise Francine used for preperformance naps. She bounced and scrambled, trying to evade his clutching hands. When his face loomed over hers, she slapped it as hard as she could.

“Why, you little—” He caught her wrist, and she let out a shriek.

The door flew open and hit the wall like a rifle shot. “Willow?”

“Silas!”

In an instant, concern, comprehension, and anger crossed his face. He was on Philip in a single leap, tearing the actor away from Willow.

Philip swung his fist, connected with Silas’s left eye, and sent him reeling. Turning back to Willow, who had frozen at the sight of her beloved storming to her rescue, Philip reached for her again. “I’ll show you, you little minx.”

She scrambled off the chaise, clutching for something, anything to ward him off. Her fingers closed around the vase standing ready for flowers.

Before she could swing it around, Silas’s arms came around Philip’s shoulders, dragging him away from her. Staggering, they crashed into the wall. The impact loosened Silas’s grip, and Philip swung around on him.

Silas was ready. His fist smacked into Philip’s jaw, dropping him into a heap on the floor. His chest heaved, and his eyes sought Willow’s.

People crowded into the doorway, headed by Francine. “What on earth is going on here?” Her imperious voice cut the air.

Willow let the vase slip from her hands, and it met disaster, shattering near Philip’s head and bathing him in china bits and cold water.

He groaned, roused by the dousing.

Willow ignored him and flew to Silas.

His arms opened, and he gathered her close. “Are you all right? He didn’t hurt you?” He whispered the words against her hair, and she raised her hands to cover her face, shaking and shivering in spite of his embrace. His heart thundered under her ear, and his breathing rasped.

“Willow, please, tell me if you’re hurt.” He raised her face and peeled her hands away.

Looking into his eyes, she bit her lip and shook her head. Feather light, she touched his eyebrow and the swelling already starting there. “I’m not hurt. But your eye.” By tomorrow he’d have a purple shiner.

Movement behind her made her turn her head. She placed her palms on Silas’s chest to steady herself. Philip groaned again and lurched to his feet, assisted by one of the stagehands.

Clement elbowed into the room. “What is all this?” He looked from Silas to Philip and back. “Moncrieff, what have you done?”

“Why are you blaming Philip?” Francine asked, her cheeks red and eyes snapping. “He’s the injured party here. That man knocked him right out.”

Clement put his hands on his hips, very much the boss and commander. “Well?”

Philip put on a martyred air and touched his jaw, wincing. “It was just a little misunderstanding.”

Silas gathered himself to protest, and Willow tugged on his lapels. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Just get me out of here, please?”

His arms tightened, and his eyebrows came down—well, one came down, the other was too swollen. “You’re sure?”

She nodded and moved to his side. He kept his arm around her waist.

Clement studied them for a moment and turned to the faces in the doorway. “All right, get moving, folks. The excitement’s over.”

Reluctantly, the doorway emptied. Philip cast Willow a black look and made for the hall.

Clement stopped him. “I’d like a word with you in my office, Moncrieff. I’ll be there shortly.”

Philip’s footsteps could be heard all the way down the hall, and a door slammed.

Willow relaxed, sagging into Silas’s side.

“Willow, what is the meaning of this? Two men brawling in our dressing room? Look at this mess.” Francine waved toward the broken glass, the water puddle, and the costume rack now toppled onto the floor. “And what did you do to my chaise?” The lounge had been knocked askew and all the pillows scattered in the melee.

“Francine, perhaps now isn’t the best time.” Clement put his hand under her elbow. “I’ll send someone to clean this up. For now, perhaps you’d like a cup of tea? I know these little upsets can be stressful for such a high-strung, creative talent as yours.”

At his placating, solicitous tone, Francine lost a bit of her imperiousness. “Yes, I could use a cup of tea.” She took his arm and allowed herself to be led away.

At the last minute she looked back over her shoulder. “Willow, we will discuss this later.” And her expression boded ill for Willow’s already fragile peace of mind.

Silas let Willow push him into a chair, though he should have been the one comforting her.

She went to the pitcher on the stand in the corner, wet a cloth, and brought it back. “Your poor eye. Does it hurt?”

“No, I’m fine.” He took the cloth and held it against the sting. “I’m more concerned about you. What happened?”

She blew out a breath and crossed her arms at her waist.

A shudder shook her, and he reached for her hand, drawing her down until he held her on his lap like a little girl. Smoothing her disheveled hair away from her face, he asked again, “What happened? You can tell me.”

“We were…arguing, I guess. He saw us before the play—when you proposed.” A delicate flush pinked her cheeks, and she swallowed. “I guess it made him angry. He’s made advances before, and I’ve always put him off.”

His arm tightened around her waist. Advances? He wanted to punch the scoundrel again. Though not a man of violence—Silas couldn’t remember ever punching anyone before—the strength of his protective fury surprised him. He didn’t regret knocking Philip Moncrieff out one bit.

She tucked her head onto his shoulder. “I told him I was going to marry you, and I called him—” She broke off, embarrassment coloring her words. “I called him,” she whispered, her breath brushing against his neck, “an arrogant toad.”

He wanted to laugh. His gentle, sweet Willow a spitfire? Keeping his voice even so she wouldn’t think he was laughing at her, he said, “And that made him mad.”

“Very. He said if I wouldn’t share my kisses with him, he’d just take what he wanted.” She sat up, her gray eyes inches from his. “I really think he only wanted a kiss, but I fought him, and he seemed to lose control. Things got out of hand so fast. I’m glad you came through that door when you did.”

“I am, too.” Silas wanted to drop a kiss on her adorable nose, but he forced himself to refrain. “What happens now? Will Philip be fired?”

She studied her hands in her lap. “I don’t know. It will depend on what Philip tells Clement. There isn’t anyone in the cast who can take over Philip’s role as Mr. Rochester. Though I wish there was someone. I can’t stand pretending to be in love with him in the play. It was bad before. It will be nauseating now.”

“You can’t think to continue after what happened tonight?”

“I have to. I have a contract with the company, and no matter what happens behind the scenes, I have to honor it. The show is the most important thing, and over the next three weeks, I
am
Jane Eyre. I won’t let Philip prevent me from doing my job.”

Determination stared out of her eyes, and while he admired her grit, the thought of her enduring the presence of that cad for twenty-one more days twisted his innards. He planned then and there to have a talk with both Clement and Bill, the guard at the back door, about seeing that nobody, especially Philip, bothered Willow again. And as much as he was able, he’d be at every performance to see she got to the hotel safely. “What about Francine? What will you tell her?”

“I’ll tell her the truth about what happened, but I don’t expect her to take it well.”

“Have you told her about our engagement?” Just saying it aloud pleased him. Made it more official. She took the wet cloth from his hand and dabbed at his eye. Her fussing pleased him, too. It was nice to have someone care about him.

She caught sight of the back of his hand and gave a little squeak. “Oh, your knuckles.”

He glanced at the split skin, bruised knuckles, and swelling. Philip’s jaw had felt like punching an anvil. He flexed his fingers, trying not to wince.

She dabbed at the cut, her lower lip tucked behind her front teeth. The soft crooning sounds she made sounded sympathetic and contrite at the same time.

He caught her hand to still her ministrations. “My hand will be fine. Did you tell Francine about our engagement?”

“I haven’t told her yet. There wasn’t time before the show, and you’ll think I’m silly, but I wanted to…I don’t know, savor it for a while before I let anyone else know.” She folded and refolded the damp cloth.

“I don’t think that’s silly at all, though I admit I had just the opposite reaction. I wanted to shout it from the housetops. I wanted to yell it from the balcony the minute the play ended.” Eyeing the open door, he stole a quick kiss. “Clement told me about the job offer from New York. Honey, I want you to be sure, really sure you would rather marry me than accept that role.” Though it raked his heart to say it, he knew he had to. “I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

Her eyes widened. “He told you?”

“It’s a big decision, affecting not just your future but the entire company. You know I want you to stay here and marry me, but I can’t ask that of you unless you’re very sure. Especially since not everyone will be happy if you turn it down.”

She twined her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. “Silas, I’m sure. I’ve never been so sure. New York has nothing I need. Everything I want is right here.” She pressed her hand to his chest just over his heart.

His throat lurched, and he tightened his hold. “I’d better get you to the hotel before it gets too late. Considering everything that’s happened, I think the sooner we announce our engagement the better. Sunday morning—two days from now—after the morning service, I’ll let the church know.” Ignoring the thrust of worry at what some of the church members might say, he hugged her. “Let’s get you home.”

The desire to protect her nearly overwhelmed him, and it was getting harder and harder to drop her off at the hotel each night. They needed to decide on a wedding date, and whenever it would be looked a long way off to him.

I
won’t have it. You’re going to get this nonsense out of your head and accept that offer, and that’s that.” Francine sat propped up against the head of the bed, her hair in twin plaits on her shoulders and her face a mask of white cream. She rubbed goose grease into her hands from a small pot on her lap. “And causing a row with Philip? Whatever did you say to lead him on that way?”

Willow put the brush on the dressing table and met her sister’s eyes in the mirror. “I did nothing to lead him on. Philip didn’t need any encouragement from me. He’s been pestering me for some time, and he finally got what he deserved.”