Chapter 4 #2
The blasted man’s effect on the opposite sex—or the fact that she might very well be included in that number—mattered not.
It didn’t change what happened at Eton three years ago.
There, that was the ship righted.
Mr. Morgan ignored Delilah and pointed toward the stage boards.
“Now, you’ll stand here.” That would have Ravensworth standing not three feet from her.
She took a shuffling step backward. Mr. Morgan held up a halting palm.
“Nay, you stay where you are, Lilah. These are lovers. They need to be close.”
Delilah obeyed, but went as rigid as the boards beneath her feet. “I doubt he knows the lines.” It was worth a try.
Mr. Morgan extended his copy of the play toward Ravensworth and pointed. “You’ll start there after she begins.”
Delilah sensed hesitation in Ravensworth, and for a hopeful moment, she thought he would exercise his dukely prerogative and refuse. Then he grunted his assent. He’d really taken to grunting since he’d joined the company.
Delilah understood two things at once. This was both her big chance and utterly impossible. But she understood something else, too. If she wanted to be treated like a lead actress, then she must act like one.
She cleared her throat and repeated her first line. “I will not marry.”
What strange words to be saying in the general direction of Ravensworth. She held her gaze six inches to the right of his head, determined not to look directly at him.
He held his arm at a stiff angle and read out, “You mean to say, you will not fall in love.”
“Oh no!” The next line wanted to stick in her throat. “I am in love.”
Ravensworth might not know what direction this dialogue was taking—he was particularly fond of the high arts, and Lover’s Vows certainly wasn’t that—but she did.
“Are in love!” he proclaimed. “With the Count?”
Mr. Morgan held up a hand and stepped between them. “Lilah, this man is your one true love. You need to look at him, and perhaps caress your hand lovingly across his cheek. Give your words some life,” he added with a dramatic flourish.
Even as she wondered if a slap counted as a loving caress, Delilah nodded and looked directly at Ravensworth—which was a mistake—for she immediately forgot her next line.
“I wish…” prompted Mr. Morgan.
“I wish I was,” she said.
“Here, I have it,” interrupted Mr. Morgan, stepping between Delilah and Sebastian and taking her hand. “Take his hand in yours and brush it across your cheek. Make Anhalt feel you, Amelia.”
“Pardon?” asked Delilah to buy some time. She’d never recovered her breath sufficiently, and here it was gone again.
“Like lovers do,” explained Mr. Morgan.
Like lovers do…
Delilah’s gaze fell to one inevitable destination. Ravensworth’s hands. His left hand was the safer hand, of course. Less temptation in that hand. But her eye would stray toward his right hand and those long, knowledgeable fingers. Fingers that minutes ago had…
She squeezed her eyes shut. This was supposed to have been the summer of her dreams. Instead, thanks to one breathtakingly arrogant man, it was turning into the summer of her nightmares.
But she wanted this role. How badly? She reached for his hand—oh…the right one—and placed it on her cheek. A scent hit her nose. Musky…
Her.
Then she made her second mistake. She looked up…and directly into his intense golden eyes. How had she never noticed the flecks of green?
And his scent of cedar and citrus… Here it was again.
On a few occasions, she’d imbibed more than a wise amount of wine with dinner. The feeling stealing through her now was exactly like that. And it was Ravensworth who provoked it…
It was all entirely too much to grasp in the ten minutes since…
Oh.
What a thought to finish.
“Lilah,” said Mr. Morgan, “start at why so?”
Delilah stared into Ravensworth’s green-flecked golden eyes, the feel of his calloused palm sliding along her cheek toward the nape of her neck, his long fingers weaving through her hair…
The banked strength of a man… She’d never experienced it before—how it made a woman feel.
Her eyes wanted to drift half closed…her body to follow the subtle tug of his hand forward—
“Lilah, that’ll be all,” said Mr. Morgan.
Delilah’s eyes flew wide. “The scene’s not finished.”
“But we are,” Mr. Morgan tossed over his shoulder, already halfway across the stage. “Let’s try again next week once you’ve had a little more time on the stage under your belt. Stage fright gets everyone at the beginning.”
Delilah had never once experienced stage fright in her life. She was opening her mouth to say exactly that, but Mr. Morgan was already gone, his usual tuneless whistle trailing in his wake.
Helpless frustration replaced whatever other feeling that had been coursing through her moments ago. She’d allowed precious opportunity to slip through her fingers. And why?
Because of the man standing before her with an assessing, cocked angle to his head.
She only just realized she was still holding his hand, which was now fully cradling her head, angling her face up, her mouth only inches from his…so close all she had to do was lift onto her toes to know the taste and texture of his lips…
Then she remembered she was damned angry at this man.
With one giant, ungainly step backward, she broke the contact—and the spell he’d cast over her. “It would be best if you stayed away from me for the rest of the summer.” Even as the words passed her lips, her body cried out in protest.
Well, one part of her body.
He nodded slowly. “I can do that, but…”
“But?”
“Can you stay away from me?”
The arrogance of the man!
“Of course I can stay away from you,” she scoffed.
A single eyebrow lifted. In case she’d forgotten he was a duke. “You think so?”
“Of course,” she repeated with growing certainty.
“Even after…” he trailed.
“Even after?”
Oh, why was she still standing here? Why was she allowing him to continue?
They both knew even after what.
And to speak it aloud…
Well, no good could possibly come from that.
“Even after you’ve had a taste of what I can give you.”
There went her breath again. “A taste?” she asked without thinking. It wasn’t her mind asking the question.
His smile went more than a little wicked. “Oh, there’s more.” A beat. “Much.”
And with that, he pivoted on his heel and strode—possibly swaggered—off the stage, leaving Delilah alone.
Nay, not alone. She had his last word to keep her company.
Much.
And the certainty it would plague her dreams tonight.