Margaret Moore (8 page)

While some women might admire the flash and physicality of the former sort of hero, she would rather respect one who also used his mind. And, she had to admit, he stirred her passions as much as any dashing hero might.

Then, suddenly, the gleam of emotion in his eyes disappeared. “Good afternoon, Mistress Burroughs.”

He spoke as if nothing at all had happened between them. As if he had not offered his help, then withdrawn it. As if they had not kissed with so much mutual passion.

Disappointment, dark and bitter, filled her.

Who
was
this man who could be so different from one instant to the next?

What did it matter? Why should she let him confound her? He had made it quite clear he wanted nothing to do with her.

Determined to ignore him, she looked past Mr. Harding to the very stylishly attired young man with a round, pleasant face and a most outrageous hat who was standing behind him. With a very interested expression on his face, the unknown man pushed his way forward past the attorney.

Either he was here with Mr. Harding or he was one of the most blatantly nosy people Vivienne had ever encountered.

With an expectant smile, he looked back over his shoulder at Mr. Harding, who stepped forward to make the introductions. “Mistress Burroughs, Sir Philip, Mr. Burroughs, allow me to present Lord Cheddersby.”

Lord Cheddersby swept his hat from his head and bowed. “Your servant!” he declared fervently, as if being their servant were the dearest desire of his heart. “Mistress Burroughs, you are lovely!”

She had been told that a hundred times by Philip, but never once with this sincerity. She smiled as she curtsied. “You are too kind, my lord.”

“Your servant, Lord Cheddersby,” Uncle Elias said, a slight emphasis on the “lord.” His eyes gleamed as his gaze darted between Vivienne and Lord Cheddersby.

She knew that gleam. He got that when he was contemplating a bargain likely to come out in his favor.

A bargain involving her and Lord Cheddersby?

Paying no heed to her uncle, Lord Cheddersby addressed her with enthusiasm. “I saw you from afar and asked Mr. Harding if he knew who you were, by any chance. Imagine my delight when he said he did! I insisted he do me the honor of introducing us.”

“How kind,” Philip muttered.

Mr. Harding turned his cold gaze onto the nobleman. “I could not deny
his lordship,
surely.”

Philip scowled, but said nothing.

Mr. Harding then turned his attention to the orange girls in the pit. Their job was to sell fruit to the theater patrons, but they seemed a performance in themselves with their witty jests, blatant innuendoes, brazen smiles and the way they swayed their hips, the boxes of oranges moving from side to side.

Was he attracted by their antics, or repulsed? Did he even see them at all, or was he contemplating something else entirely?

Why should she care what he thought about the orange girls or her or anything at all? He was Sir Philip’s solicitor, and nothing more.

“If you will all excuse me,” Mr. Harding suddenly declared, speaking to everyone, it seemed, but her, “I believe I see a client of mine below. I should speak with him before the play begins.”

“By all means,” Lord Cheddersby said genially.

“No leisure for lawyers,” Uncle Elias added with a companionable chortle, as one businessman to another.

Vivienne said nothing. If he had to go, goodbye and be gone, she told herself. That was better than having his cold presence near her.

Especially when she seemed to feel so hot.

“Does the famous Heartless Harding represent you, too?” Philip demanded of Lord Cheddersby after the solicitor had departed.

“Yes … no … sometimes,” Lord Cheddersby stammered, looking as if he’d been ambushed. “Not exactly. Our family’s had the same solicitor forever. I think the fellow must be about a hundred years old. He certainly looks it. But this … this was a special case, requiring, um, special expertise.”

“And we know the kind of expertise he has,” Philip muttered darkly. “You must be rather desperate for company to bring your solicitor to the play.”

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Lord Cheddersby acknowledged. “Lord Farrington and Sir Richard are apparently permanently ensconced in the country with their families these days. Not that I begrudge them that, of course, for they are very happy.”

“Is he arranging a marriage settlement for you, too, my lord?” Uncle Elias suggested.

“Oh, good God, no!”

The gleam in her uncle’s eyes brightened.

“You sound as if you miss Lord Farrington and Sir Richard,” Vivienne noted.

“I do. I have nobody left.”

“You have Mr. Harding.”

“Oh, yes, I do, I suppose. But he’s not exactly a talkative chap.”

“No, he’s not,” Uncle Elias agreed. “Still, devilishly clever, so they say.”

“Have you known him long?” Vivienne asked.

“Unfortunately, I haven’t, except by sight and reputation and what happened with Richard. He was Lady Dovercourt—that is, Richard’s wife—he was her solicitor before Richard or I had heard of him. I gather he is very good at the law.”

“I assume he is well educated?”

“Vivienne, there is no need to interrogate Lord Cheddersby,” Uncle Elias growled.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Lord Cheddersby replied.

“He had a good teacher,” Philip interjected. “I gather they were very close.”

Vivienne frowned, unsure what he meant, although it was obviously not a compliment. Rather than have him explain, she addressed Lord Cheddersby again. “Does he have many clients among the king’s court?”

“I don’t believe so, no,” Lord Cheddersby replied.

“I should say not,” Philip seconded. “I thought I would have fleas after I left his office. Nothing but riffraff for clients. It’s a wonder the man makes enough to live on. You would think he would have been delighted to see me, but he was almost rude. He actually had the effrontery to ask some old woman if she would mind waiting while he spoke to me. I’faith, I nearly walked right out.”

Philip’s denunciation probably meant Mr. Harding had not been sufficiently humble and deferential to Sir Philip. She also suspected that if Mr. Harding’s clientele were poor, his fees were small. No doubt that was another reason Philip had chosen him.

“The play’s about to start,” Philip observed coldly to the young nobleman. “Should you not go to your own box?”

“Nonsense!” Uncle Elias growled. “We have room in our box for one more.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Lord Cheddersby demurred.

“You won’t be,” Uncle Elias assured him. “Here, sit beside Vivienne, my lord. Sir Philip, there is plenty of room on the other side of my niece.”

In a few moments, they were arranged as he proposed.

Eagerly taking his seat beside Vivienne, Lord Cheddersby said, “I can tell you something about Mr. Harding that’s really rather astonishing,” he began. He didn’t wait for Vivienne’s nod of approval before continuing with awe and admiration. “Richard told me that Mr. Harding threatened him once.”

“He threatened Sir Richard Blythe?” Uncle Elias said with a gasp of disbelief from behind them. “He’s only a solicitor. How dare he draw on a friend of the king?”

“Oh, not with a weapon. Richard was telling me about how he reconciled with his wife and he said that he was very upset when he went to see Mr. Harding, who had made a rather serious allegation about Richard. It all was for naught, of course, because Richard wouldn’t do anything despicable, although one might believe him capable of anything if you saw all his plays and some of the characters he’s created. Really, Richard does come up with the most astonishing people sometimes.”

Fortunately, Lord Cheddersby paused to shake his head.

“What happened when he went to see Mr. Harding?” Vivienne asked.

“Mr. Harding told him to sit down.”

Vivienne’s mouth fell open in surprise, and her uncle sounded only a little less surprised. “That is all?”

Lord Cheddersby nodded gravely. “He
ordered
him to sit down and, as angry as he was, Richard
did.
I swear, if Richard came upon me when he was enraged, I would turn tail and run. I would never dare to order him to do anything—and Richard would never do it anyway. Mr. Harding must have looked very fierce.”

“It would take more than a verbal command to make
me
sit down,” Philip declared, “if he even possessed the gall to try to order me about.”

“Perhaps not,” Lord Cheddersby replied as he gave Philip a dubious look. “Still, he is rather intimidating. I suppose if one saw him smile, one might think differently. Supposing he can smile, that is, and I’m not absolutely sure of that,” Lord Cheddersby confessed genially.

She thought of the difference a smile did impart to Robert Harding’s usually stern features. No, he was not intimidating then.

“Do you know,” Lord Cheddersby began meditatively, “I would have liked to have been a barrister, but I daresay my father wouldn’t permit it.”

Although she really couldn’t imagine Lord Cheddersby gainfully employed, Vivienne gave him a friendly smile for the sentiment, while Philip emitted a scornful snort of a laugh.

“You are fortunate that you do not have to work for a living,” Uncle Elias said.

“Yes, I suppose so. Father’s investments and estate see to that.” The young lord sighed heavily. “Still, it can be quite boring, all that money.”

Vivienne glanced back at her uncle. She had never seen an expression quite like the one that was on his face. It was as if he didn’t know whether to be pleased, shocked or horrified.

“I hear that saucy Nell Gwynn has a part in the play tonight,” Lord Cheddersby went on. “Richard was quite impressed with her and gave her a major role. Mind, she’s as impertinent as they come. She nearly knocked me out with an orange once. That’s how she started in the theater, selling oranges in the pit.”

“Now she’s on the stage instead of in front of it. I daresay she sold more than her oranges for that opportunity, and that Sir Richard was more than happy to pay,” Philip muttered sarcastically.

The whole audience suddenly rose en masse, heralding the arrival of the king and his party. Charles acknowledged their greeting, then began to clap at the sight of an attractive young actress who appeared on stage to recite the prologue. The audience quickly resumed their seats.

The amusing actress was wearing what was apparently supposed to be a shepherdess costume. A side seam in her skirt had split open, and Vivienne wondered why no one had gone to the trouble to fix it.

Regardless of her torn costume—or perhaps because of it—Philip and Lord Cheddersby were obviously finding her fascinating. Vivienne, however, was not nearly so interested in the sight of a bare leg, so she let her gaze rove from the stage—and her heart seemed to stop.

Robert Harding stood in the dark corner to the left of the stage, where he was speaking to another man with long, shaggy hair and an eye patch. The stranger looked very much like a pirate, and she wondered if he was the client Mr. Harding had mentioned.

Suddenly Mr. Harding looked over his shoulder, seemingly right at her. She flushed hotly, and quickly turned away, but not before realizing his companion was staring at her.

Why should she be embarrassed? she thought wildly. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

Resolving not to be embarrassed or intimidated, she looked at the corner—only to discover that Mr. Harding and his associate with the eye patch were gone, as if they had melted into the very plaster of the walls.

“’S
cuse us, ladies,” Jack said with a grin as he led Rob through the backstage warren of the King’s Theatre, past a group of actresses, props, flats and several men who, by rights, should have been in the audience, not flirting with the female performers.

“Oh, we’ll excuse you two, all right,” one of the actresses said with a bawdy leer, while another whistled with approval.

“Here, hold your noise!” the property master hissed. “Nell’s makin’ her best speech.”

Chuckling and regardless of the attention he had drawn, Jack continued out into the alley before he turned and faced Rob. As he did, he pulled off the unnecessary patch over his left eye, then scratched his eyelid and the red mark the patch had left.

“Are you still using that patch?” Rob asked, glad to be out in the slightly fresher air. Little daylight penetrated the shadows here, but he could see Jack well enough. “I thought it made your head hurt.”

Jack’s friendly smile turned into a smirk. “The ladies like it, and I was never one to disappoint the ladies.”

“So I recall.”

As Jack tucked the unnecessary patch into his belt, he studied his friend a moment. “Neither was you, back in the day.”

“I prefer to forget those days.”

“Don’t I know it,” Jack said. “Can’t hardly get you into a tavern now. Or is it that you’ve got a woman and you don’t want me to find out? That one Polly seen you with, I’d wager. Right skint of you to keep her to yourself if you do.”

Rob had no desire to get into a discussion about women—and especially Vivienne—with Jack. “Speaking of wagers, what happened to your new jacket?”

His friend shrugged.

“Lost in a bet? What was it—dice? Bearbaiting? Cockfighting?”

“Nothing wrong with this old one, is there?” Jack demanded defensively.

“Except for the patches, no.”

“There was a time, old son, you looked like a walking scarecrow and I never made sport o’ you, so no need to insult me, is there?”

“No. I was merely making an observation.”

“Observations, is it?”

“Yes.”

“Not judgments?”

“No.”

“Good, because we both know we ain’t neither one of us been saints.”

“I do remember, Jack. It’s just that I prefer not to think too much about the past.” Except when he had to, to remind himself why he must not want Vivienne Burroughs.

And never again would he give in to the temptation to see her, he silently vowed, if it could be avoided at all.

He should not have come to the theater today. It had been torment enough to see her in the gallery while he stood with Lord Cheddersby in the pit. How boldly alone she had seemed, standing apart from Sir Philip and her uncle as she looked out over the throng below. She was like a goddess in the heavens whom mere mortals could only gaze upon from afar.