The Temptation of Laura (24 page)

You’re losing him. He loves you. He loves you, and you’re pushing him away.
She reached for him but couldn’t bring herself to beg him to stay or even understand. Her hand dropped to her side, trembling with the force of her self-worth. “Adam, listen to me—”

“I have my ambitions . . .” He shook his head and closed his eyes. “But more than anything, I have my pride. I swore I would never have a wife, a family, none of those things.” He slipped his hands from her face and a tear slid over his stubbled cheek. “I should have damn well listened to my instinct and never let things get this far between us.”

Panic furled in a painful ball behind her heart. “What does that mean?”

He opened his eyes and searched her face. “I am sorry. I cannot be the man you want.”

He whirled away and snatched his hat from the hook behind the door. With a final glance at her, he yanked open the door and disappeared into the corridor.

Frozen with shock and paralyzed with heartbreak, Laura sank onto the bed.

“Don’t leave me, Adam.” Her whispered plea was full of regret for the loss of his love. For something she’d never dare think she’d have.

Laura clutched Monica’s letter as she stared at the façade of the Theater Royal, Bath. No part of her wanted to step inside. No part of her wanted to be in this position. She’d waited for Adam to return to the London tavern for two nights before she’d accepted his abandonment. Two days following that, she’d received a message from Monica saying she needed Laura’s testimony to ensure Baxter’s incarceration. Once again, she was back to losing everything in return for testimony against a scumbag.

She narrowed her eyes. Well, that was fine. She’d do what she had to a thousand times over if it meant Baxter didn’t beat another whore or extort money from another starving family.

Her original plan of living and working in the country lost its appeal the moment Adam left her in London. Excluding Bette, he was the only other person she’d met who believed she could be more than a whore, waitress, or washer-woman. If she couldn’t have Adam as her lover, she wouldn’t waste the unique and wondrous feeling of possibility he’d inspired in her. She would try to aspire to a different dream than the theater and everlasting love come true. There had to be more Bath could offer her.

She ran her hand over her burgeoning belly. There had to be another way.

The sense of failure and loss would abate soon enough. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to help Monica after her friend had been so willing to help her. Strength in the female race was unparalleled.

Back to the city where Bette was buried and Baxter awaited trial, Laura had gotten through the heartbreak of one and the harassment of the other. Why keep running only to be left alone? She had her baby. That was what mattered from then on. Soon, the pain of loving Adam Lacey would be nothing more than a dim memory.

She exhaled a shaky breath.
Please, God, let this agony fade. . . .

“Laura?”

She started and turned. Tess came toward her. “My God, it is you.” She wrapped her arms around Laura. “It’s so good to see you.”

Forcing a smile, Laura hugged her friend. “You too. How are you?”

Tess pulled back and clasped Laura’s hands at arm’s length. “I’m good. The last I heard, you’d run off to London with Mr. Lacey.” She grinned. “I can’t think of anything more romantic.” She turned Laura’s left hand over and stared. “Darn. Hasn’t the man put a ring on your finger yet?”

Pain struck Laura’s heart afresh, but she laughed. “I don’t think so. Adam Lacey marrying the likes of me? Didn’t I tell you to get those stars out of your eyes, Tess Cambridge?”

Her friend laughed and looped her arm through Laura’s. “Well, you can at least come inside and tell me what happened in the big city.”

“Inside?”

Tess tilted her head toward the theater. “Aren’t you here for your job back?”

A spark of hope ignited in Laura’s stomach. To get her old job back would provide reason for her to be in the theater every day, if nothing else. Maybe they wouldn’t mind her waddling a few hours a day through the aisles to earn some money. Would it matter that an orange seller carried a babe?

She glanced toward the theater doors. “Do you think they’d give me a job here when I left without as much as a backward glance? I can’t imagine they’ll take—”

“’Course they will. One word from Miss Danes and you’ll be back working before you know it.”

“Is Monica in a play here now, then? I’ve only been gone a few weeks and when I saw her last . . .”

Tess scowled. “Baxter had given her a going over. I know.” Her face softened. “It will take more than that to keep a lady like Miss Danes down. Her face is healed up. Baxter’s in prison awaiting trial. She’s happy, Laura. Come on. Let’s go inside and you can tell me all about you and Mr. Lacey. Where is he, by the way?”

Laura swallowed as she and Tess mounted the steps and entered the theater lobby. “In London, I assume. I haven’t seen him for a few days.”

“What?” Tess ground to a halt. “He didn’t leave you there?”

“He had every right. I let him down, Tess.” Regret burned hot at her cheeks, but Laura’s sense of pride burned brighter. “I’m not who he thought I was. I’m just Laura. I’m not sure he ever understood that.”

Tess frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Come on.” Laura tugged on her hand. “I need to see Monica, even if I can’t get my old job back.”

They passed through the auditorium and entered the door taking them backstage. The usual hustle and bustle greeted them, and Laura emitted a satisfied sigh. The smells and sights of mingling actors, stagehands, makeup, and scenery filled her senses and sent tiny darts of inexplicable comfort over the surface of her skin. She smiled and waved hello to a dresser who recognized her. God, it felt so good to be back in the theater, no matter how short-lived her stay might well be.

Tess touched her elbow. “Maybe it would be best if I left you and Miss Danes to get reacquainted. She doesn’t know me like she does you. She’ll wonder what I’m doing there.”

“Don’t be daft. Monica—”

“Is a wonderful lady, but it wouldn’t feel right being in her room without a message. Go on. You go.” Tess squeezed Laura’s arm. “You go and say hello and, in the meantime, I’ll go and see the manager and try to lay some groundwork for getting your job back. Come and find me when you’re done, all right?”

Smiling, Laura nodded and laughed when Tess pulled a funny face and hurried away. Inhaling a strengthening breath, Laura pushed on toward Monica’s dressing room. She paused outside. Sudden nerves assaulted her. Monica was Adam’s friend, not hers. What if Monica had written for her help with the understanding Laura and Adam were still together? What if she had no wish to befriend her now Adam had gone? Laura straightened her spine. All that mattered was her testimony—personal emotion was no longer significant.

She forced her nerves into submission, raised her hand, and knocked.

“Come in.” Monica’s happy greeting came from the other side of the door.

Laura pushed open the door and stepped inside. “Hello, Monica.”

Monica spun around from the full-length mirror where Stephanie was helping her into an enormous bustle. “Oh, my Lord, Laura! It’s so good to see you.” She opened her arms. “Come.”

Relief pushed the breath from Laura’s lungs and they embraced. “You look so much better than when I last saw you.” Laura smiled over her shoulder. “I’m so happy to see you looking so well.”

Monica stepped back, her hand still clasping Laura’s. “I feel so liberated. Knowing Baxter is where he belongs has a funny way of putting some color into a girl’s cheeks. Now we’ve just got to make sure he stays there.” Stephanie tied the bustle into place and walked to the wardrobe. Monica’s eyes softened as she looked at her trusted friend. “Stephanie has been a godsend. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through the last few weeks without her.”

Guilt infused Laura. She and Adam had left so soon after Monica’s attack. Maybe they’d made more bad decisions than good when they were together. Love blinded even the most jaded of eyes.

“I’m sorry we left the way we did.”

Monica waved her hand. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for leaving. I wanted nothing more than for Adam to pursue his dreams.” She gave a sheepish grin. “I wanted even more so for the two of you to grasp the opportunity for some romance. God knows we could do with a bit of that around here.”

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean
maybe
?” Her face fell. “Are you . . . where’s Adam?”

Laura slowly pulled her hand from Monica’s and stepped back when Stephanie approached carrying a gown of the most precious cream-colored satin. “He’s in London as far as I know.”

Monica looked from her to Stephanie and back again. “In London? But why? Why would he not return with you? Doesn’t he care Baxter could be freed?”

Stephanie helped Monica into the dress, giving Laura some time to catch the unexpected sob that escaped her. She concentrated on breathing past another stab of loss that jabbed cruelly into her chest. The dress rustled and swished, making conversation impossible, as Stephanie raised it up the length of Monica’s body.

Tears pricked Laura’s eyes like needles as she looked at her beautiful and unlikely friend. “You look stunning.”

Monica stared at her expectantly. “Where’s Adam?”

Laura glanced toward the door, considering whether or not to make an escape. “He’s—”

“Oh my word. Did he find an investor? When all this nonsense with Baxter is dealt with, you can sort out his house. He’ll start earning his own money.” Monica’s eyes turned bright with undisguised excitement. “Has someone agreed to fund his play? Oh, my God. Produce it?”

Laura’s tears broke. She covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry. It’s none of those things, and I’ve no idea where he is.”

The silence that followed pressed down on Laura’s chest until she thought she might scream with the need to halt its accusatory power. A sense of heartrending loss built and built, growing heavier and heavier.

“Oh, Laura. Please don’t cry. Everything will be all right.”

When Monica and Stephanie came forward and embraced her, Laura’s tears flowed as they hadn’t since the night Adam left. The loss of Bette and Adam—even the feeling of independence she thought she yearned for so much, and now had—pinched and twisted inside her.

They led her to a chair and Laura sat. Their softly spoken protestations and words of comfort came around her in an invisible blanket of female comradeship. So grateful for Monica and Stephanie’s support, but missing Bette’s even more so, Laura struggled to maintain a semblance of dignity. Lifting her head, she accepted the handkerchief Stephanie pressed into her hand and wiped her face. “I’m so sorry. I thought I could do this. I thought I could come back here, move on, but . . .”

“Tell us what happened.” Monica wiped a thumb over her cheek. “Whatever it is, we can mend it. You belong here. The theater is your home. If you will give me the chance, I will prove it to you.”

Laura frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Your acting, Laura. It is what you should be doing.”

“My acting.”

“Yes.”

She took a deep breath. “Acting is no longer an option. I just want my old job of selling treats back. If you could help me with that, I’d appreciate it.”

Monica shot her a stern look. “Adam first. Then we’ll talk about what happens next. What happened in London? Where is he?”

With her last tear spent, Laura pulled back her shoulders and looked Stephanie and then Monica straight in the eye. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No, but I know why he disappeared.” She looked at each woman in turn before emitting a sigh. “Mrs. Fleet was one of the nicest madams I’ve ever met. . . .”

 

The unfamiliar noises around him told Adam he needed to open his eyes. Drag his heavy lids wide open and face the consequences of his alcoholic binge. He would . . . if his eyelids would only cooperate.
Has someone soldered them shut?

“Sir?” Soft floral perfume drifted by. “Sir, are you awake? It’s time for you to leave.”

Mustering every ounce of his depleted energy, Adam finally managed to crack open his eyes to slits. The sight of the woman leaning over him brought them wide open. He scrambled away and upward, banging his shoulder blades against the cushioned headboard.

“Who are you?”

The woman was most likely younger than him by a year or two, but still astoundingly attractive and dressed in some of the finest clothes on the market. She smiled, revealing white and attended teeth.

“I’m Mrs. Fleet, sir. The owner of the house. Your money’s run out. It’s time for you to leave.”

Adam stared. “My money? You mean . . . oh, Christ.” He dropped his head back. “This is a whorehouse?”

Her kindly smile vanished and she rose slowly from the bed and wandered to its foot. She curled her lace-mittened hands around the iron footboard. “I’d prefer you didn’t speak of my establishment in such a derogatory tone. Especially as you’ve languished in all it has to offer for the last forty-eight hours.”

Nausea rose bitter in his throat. “I have been here for two days? Oh, my God. I have to get out of here.”

He whipped back the covers and dragged his naked ass from the bed, heedless to the madam watching. The ache in his head gripped like a vise around his brain, and his stomach quivered with sickness. Two days? He struggled to a bureau where his clothes lay neatly folded. He fought his unsteady legs into his trousers.

“Who laundered my clothes?” He glanced at Mrs. Fleet. “Surely that is not a normal aspect of your service.”

She smiled softly. “Not usual, but you paid well, sir. There’s only so much sex a brokenhearted man can take. I took the payment and put it to good use with other services while you slept.”

Adam stood upright. More money he had wasted. Pride burned hot at his cheeks as his last conversation with Laura came hurtling back to him. “I am not brokenhearted.”

She gave a dry laugh. “Oh, sir. There’s no shame in coming here to distract you from pining for a girl you can’t have. You aren’t the first, and you certainly won’t be the last. It makes you more a gentleman than the men who choose to vent their anger violently on unsuspecting sisters, friends, and whores.”

Adam stared. Could he really sink any lower? A whorehouse. He had never stepped foot inside one before now. “I did not come here pining. I have no idea why I am here.” He snatched his jacket from the chair beside him.

“I do.”

The knowing tone of her voice tightened his jaw. “How can you?”

“You spoke of a woman named Laura.”

He stiffened. “When?”

She smiled. “Many times.”

Adam pursed his lips and turned away from her to look for his shoes. It would be advisable just to keep his big mouth shut and get the hell out of there as soon as possible. Did Laura know he was there?