Love Plays a Part (22 page)

The earl smiled dryly. “I see. This seems to be quite in line with your previous statements concerning your preference for my theatrical self. However, as I have warned you previously, I cannot promise to keep the rake in me completely under control.” He allowed his smile to widen. “I can only promise to try.”

Samantha knew she should send him away, but when she opened her mouth to do so, she was surprised to hear herself say, “I will content myself with that.” As his smile grew wider, she hurried to add, “But you must really try.”

The earl nodded gravely. “I give you my solemn word.”

“Very well.” She managed to keep her tone sufficiently sober, though her heart was beating triumphantly.

“Now that that formality is over,” said his lordship softly, “let us make ourselves comfortable. The curtain is going up.”

Samantha nodded, glad of the distraction this offered. She was really rather disturbed by her actions of the past few minutes. It was almost as though she had taken leave of her senses. But somehow it had suddenly seemed vitally important that his lordship stay with her. The force of these feelings was such that it was no longer possible for her to escape their significance. Where before she might have had a slight preference for his lordship, she now had a decided partiality. Under the circumstances the thought was not particularly pleasing.

As the curtain rose, the earl leaned closer to whisper in her ear, and Samantha felt that strange tingling in her spine again. It was clear that the earl’s company was becoming dangerous, but equally clear was the fact that she did not wish to forego it.

“You will enjoy this, I am sure,” he said. He sent a critical look toward the back of the stage. “I understand that Kean was responsible for some new scenery.”

“Yes.” Samantha turned her head to confirm this and, finding her lips only inches from his, turned hastily back.

When the curtain fell for intermission, she turned to him eagerly. He was still quite close, but not so near as he had been. “Tell me,” she said, “you must have seen Kemble do this. And others. Tell me about them.”

The earl smiled dryly. “I wish
I
could bring such eagerness to your eyes, such brightness to your cheeks.”

“Milord!” Samantha, endeavoring to look stern, could only be grateful that he had no knowledge of his real effect on her.

“Yes, yes.” He arranged his features in a suitably solemn expression. “I must suppress the rake in me. Now, to your question. I have seen Kemble, Elliston, Cooke. Young too.”

Samantha pulled her knees up under her skirt and rested her chin on them. “Which was best?” she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

The earl smiled. “All right, my pet, I shall dredge my memory for every little nuance, anything to please you.”

At Samantha’s small frown he raised a slim hand. “Yes, yes, I know. More theatre and less rake. Very well. Let us start with Kemble. His character of Macbeth has great stateliness, but the more impassioned scenes are damaged by the artifices he employs - the drooped eyelids, patient shakes of the head, and whining preachments.”

Samantha nodded. From what she had seen of Kemble, this seemed a sound judgment.

“Elliston,” continued his lordship, “is very noisy in the despair of the last scenes, but where deep thinking is indicated, all is lost with him.”

Again Samantha nodded. Elliston seemed to her a somewhat superficial man.

“Cooke is too rough and unimpressive,” his lordship went on. “Except in the death scene.”
He sighed appreciatively. “There he falls like the ruin of a state.”

Hugging her knees, Samantha was all attention.

“Young does a competent job,” the earl said, “but his Macbeth is too somber. Kean’s is the best I have ever seen, and I make this judgment as fairly as possible.”

“I read somewhere,” replied Samantha, “that the character of Macbeth produces a poor effect when done upon the stage because actors are usually not capable of mastering its intricacies.”

“Yes,” said his lordship. He smiled at her. “You will see. Kean, however, makes us sympathize with the character. Pity wins out over justice when we watch the struggles of his integrity. It’s here that both Kemble and Cooke fall short. Their Macbeths delineate the ambition, the remorse, the villainy, but the irresolution, the gentleness, and the fear are slighted.”

“Oh, yes,” breathed Samantha. “I felt all that in his portrayal.”

The earl frowned slightly. “I hope you have not forgotten my admonitions about idols with feet of clay.”

“Of course not,” Samantha replied. “I am quite aware of that.”

The earl’s frown did not lighten. “You are young and idealistic. I should not like to see those ideals shattered.”

Samantha could not forbear smiling. “But, milord, you yourself have attempted to do so.”

He started visibly and then, realizing her intent, smiled dryly. “That is quite another matter. I have not tried to overwhelm you with protestations of undying devotion and eternal affection.”

“No, you have not,” agreed Samantha, wondering why she should suddenly find a lump in her throat. He was watching her closely, and she struggled to keep her face calm. She must keep this conversation on an even keel.

“I have been very frank with you,” continued his lordship. “I have made no vain promises or insinuated any forthcoming nuptials. I am a plain-speaking man. And frankly” - he grinned boyishly - “I have always profited from the straightforward approach. Until now.”

Quite strangely she felt as though
she
were in the wrong. “You just don’t understand. You’re a man.”

“I’m quite aware of that,” said his lordship laconically.

“And you profit by it,” Samantha continued. “Every new light-skirts, every bit of muslin that falls to your charm only redounds to your credit. But what of the women? What happens to them when your short-lived passion is ended?”

Roxbury looked perplexed. “What has happened since time immemorial. They find a new protector. Or, if none presents himself at that moment, they use a little of what they have squirreled away for a rainy day.”

Samantha sighed. He simply could not see the justness of her remarks.

“I don’t see why you are fussing yourself so,” he said calmly. “Women of your class have never been insulted by the chance to move up in life. Look at Harriette Wilson. Her father was a Swiss watchmaker and her mother mended stockings. Yet Harriette is a wealthy, respected person.”

“Respected,” conceded Samantha, “but not respectable. No ladies will invite her into their drawing rooms.”

The earl frowned in annoyance. “Of course not. Nor would they invite you, no matter how ardently you undertake to remain a virgin. It is not chasteness which determines
entre
into society. It is a question of breeding.” He smiled sarcastically. “Why, some of the best-bred ladies in London have had more lovers than Harriette and her sisters put together. No, the prime concern here is blood. If you come from the right parentage, you may be as wanton as any light-skirts. Some ladies, I understand, also find it profitable.”

Samantha shivered. Such a life seemed extremely fearful to her.

“Just ask Maria,” he said. “She’s been around awhile. She’ll tell you as much. You might as well profit from your youth and beauty while you can.”

Samantha sighed heavily. “You are right, Maria did tell me that. But - but I could not. It seems so - so crass.”

The earl smiled gently. “I did not propose that you become one of those poor girls who walk the streets. You’ve too much understanding for that. Nor do I propose you take up with someone you detest.” He smiled brashly. “In my case I do not feel that any animosity exists. And where animosity does not exist, all may fare well even if passion is not present.”

This calm discussion was extremely painful to Samantha. She swallowed over the lump in her throat. “I was brought up very differently from most girls of my class,” she began. “I’m afraid that such a life as you propose was described to me as the utmost in wickedness. In actual fact I should not even wish to contemplate matrimony unless it were accompanied by love.”

Roxbury shook his head. “Love will not pay creditors or keep you safe against a rainy day.”

Samantha frowned. “But the course you wish me to pursue is reprehensible to me.”

The earl captured her fluttering fingers in his gloved hand. “You are frightened, that is all.” His dark eyes gazed into hers, and her heart began to pound in her breast. “Do not be, my dear. I should be very gentle.” He touched the tip of her nose and traced the line of her cheekbone with a warm finger. “Ask old Maria. She will tell you I have an excellent reputation as a lover.”

Samantha’s cheeks grew even rosier. “Maria is not here today,” she said, hardly knowing what she told him. “Someone said she was ill.”

“I see.” A slight frown creased his lordship’s forehead. “Well, you can ask her when she returns. I do not suppose you are ready to come to me tonight. Though I have my eye on a neat little house in the suburbs. I am sure you would be quite comfortable there.”

Samantha pulled away the hand that he held. “You - you must not waste your time so. I cannot - I cannot do such a thing.”

The earl continued to smile. “The time is mine, and I shall waste it if I please.” He shrugged. “You must remember, we of the
ton
are often afflicted with
ennui
. This is my way of combating it.”

Samantha forced herself to nod. She could never make him understand. Perhaps if she had been able to tell him the truth - that she was a person of quality, with such a person’s principles - he might have begun to realize. But as long as he saw her as a member of a lower social order, he would persist in his pursuit, assuming that her reluctance was not genuine but part of a coy plan. “I myself have never suffered from
ennui,”
she said finally. “There is far too much to do here for a person to become bored.”

“You could learn if you accept me,” he said with that wicked grin. “And I should furnish you with many gowns; even more fetching than that coral creation you wore to Covent Garden. And jewels to blaze in your ears and on your wrists and throat.”

His eyes regarded her so warmly that Samantha felt her heart begin to thud heavily. Those eyes said so much. They spoke of desire and passion, of depths of feeling that were entirely unknown to her and yet that she yearned to be taught. With his lordship as teacher. For a long moment she stared like one paralyzed. Then she shook her head. “I cannot, milord. I cannot.”

He did not seem at all disturbed by this refusal. He merely smiled and touched her cheek gently. Samantha strove to hide the tremors that wanted to wash over her. His touch made her feel weak and helpless. “I am a very patient man,” he observed dryly. “And if I have to wait for what I want, I will do so. As long as necessary.”

Samantha was about to protest, but he laid a finger on her lips to forestall her. “Ssssh. The curtain is rising. Watch now.”

Obediently she turned toward the stage, but her heart pounded violently in her breast. Much as she might protest, and much as she did not wish to become an object of infamy, she was finally forced to admit to herself that her partiality for his lordship was past controlling. Why else would she have asked him to stay when it was obviously far more to her advantage - or at least that of her virtue - to have him go? Still she could not but be glad that he sat there behind her, that occasionally she felt his warm breath on her ear as he moved to whisper to her, that even when they were both seemingly engrossed in the play, her body was singularly conscious of his presence.

Gradually she forced her mind back upon the performance. Kean’s portrayal was awe-inspiring.

As the curtain fell, she felt his lordship move closer, and his hand appeared in front of her, offering a clean cambric square. She took it gratefully and wiped at her face. Then she turned to him. “How did you know that I should need this?”

The earl shrugged. “The play is very affecting, and Kean is a master. Also, I know you are susceptible to tears. The death scene is particularly moving.”

Samantha nodded. “He told me that he falls forward like that as if to cover the shame of his defeat. He said he got the idea from the figure of a soldier on Sir Ralph Abercrombie’s monument in St. Paul’s Cathedral.”

“Indeed.” Roxbury smiled cheerfully. “Now I learn something from you. The theatre is ever fascinating. Its spell is hard to break.”

“I would not wish to do so,” said Samantha in surprise. “I like my life here.”

Roxbury shook his head. “You are a hard nut to crack, Samantha, my love.”
His smile faded and his eyes darkened. “But I shall persist.”

Being unable to think of an adequate response, she did not reply to this. She dared not tell him that he was already influencing her so that she could not bring herself to send him away.

“The afterpiece will soon be over,” he said. “Will you accept a ride home in my carriage?”

Sanity returned to Samantha, if only briefly, and she shook her head. “No, milord.” She hesitated. “I - I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it being there. But since I cannot pay for it in the coin you wish -” She paused and shrugged eloquently.

The earl smiled slightly. “And if I say that your companionship is sufficient reward?”

Samantha allowed herself a small smile. It was better to keep all this light. “Your lordship has several times told me that temptation was too great for him.”

The earl frowned. “Forestalled by my own words. And if I undertake not to touch you, except to hand you in and out?”

Samantha hesitated. The streets
were
awfully cold and dark. “I -”

“Come,” said his lordship. “Give me a chance to prove myself. Your friend shall ride on the box. Please?” His dark eyes pleaded with her, and Samantha felt her resistance fading. After all, it
was
foolish to walk in such weather. And with Jake on the box she should be safe enough. She took a deep breath. “All right, milord. But you must keep to your promise.”

“I shall,” he said gravely. “I give you my word of honor. The Roxburys have always been men of their word.”