Page 23 of No Mistress Of Mine

Lola ducked back behind the screen, excitement rising inside her like fireworks. To learn the craft, to do it properly, to perform Shakespeare. To be more than just a great pair of legs and a sultry voice. To be respected for her work rather than ogled for her body.

She wanted that. Lola took a deep breath. She wanted it so badly, she ached. And yet...

What about Denys?

Agonized, Lola stifled a groan and lifted her head to stare at the garments on hooks before her: the austere dress of plum velvet she preferred to wear for supper after shows, the spangled silver dance costume she’d don tomorrow night, the delicate, luxurious peignoir of white silk chiffon that she liked to wear here in her dressing room while applying and removing her cosmetics. These gowns were the tight compartments of her dancer’s life. But she couldn’t dance forever. Eight years, maybe ten, and her body would start to give out. What would happen to her then? If she didn’t take Latham up on his offer, what other choices would she have?

Denys,a little voice whispered.If you married him, he’d take care of you.

But at what cost? He’d already alienated his family because of her. Hell, he’d mortgaged his estate. And those were nothing compared to the sacrifices he’d have to make if he married her.

His family would never accept the match. The earl was the only one who had ever met her, but she was aware that all of them loathed her to the core and thought her a gold-digging tramp. If Denys married her, Conyers would surely follow through with his threat and disown his son.

Society wouldn’t accept the marriage, either. They’d freeze her out, and, eventually, Denys as well. His titled friends, pressured by their families, would turn on him, too. Nick, Jack, James, Stuart—they all liked her well enough when she was kicking up her legs and making them laugh, but surely not as Denys’s wife. Losing their friendship, losing his family, being ostracized and disgraced—these sacrifices would break him apart.

She wanted a secure future for herself, yes, but not by sacrificing Denys’s happiness. And he could never be happy with her—not as his wife, his countess, his helpmate for life. When his passion cooled, as it inevitably would, what sort of marriage would they have?

And what about herself? As much as she wanted to act, becoming Viscountess Somerton, the future Countess of Conyers, was a part she just wasn’t good enough to play. Not every waking moment for the rest of her life. A girl like her, married to a lord? It was ridiculous.

A tear slid down her cheek, and she squeezed her eyes shut. A sailor’s falling in love with a mermaid might make for a blissful fairy tale, but she knew, better than anyone, what happened when the fairy tale was over.

Her mind flashed back to the days of her childhood, with her mother gone, and her father, head in his hands, soaked in whiskey and sobbing like a child. It had taken him ten years of hard drinking to finally end his pain in the most permanent way possible.

She thought of her burlesque days in New York, when she’d taken the train down to Maryland and stood on the front steps of one of Baltimore’s most opulent houses, and a butler with haughty eyes had told her Mrs.Angus Hutchison had no daughter and had never had a daughter.

Behind her, the dressing-room door opened. “Lola?” Denys’s voice floated to her above the other sounds that came through the doorway—raucous piano, teeming voices, drunken laughter. “Lola, are you in here, or—”

His voice broke off, and she knew he’d just seen Henry.

Dismay jolted her as she realized what he would think, but then, a much more dismal realization struck her. She knew what he’d think, yes, but wasn’t that better?

She grabbed the peignoir and slipped it on before she could change her mind. Bracing herself to give the most convincing performance of her life, she stepped out from behind the screen. “Denys!” she gasped as if in horrified shock. “What are you doing here?”

His dark gaze lowered to the flimsy garment that covered her naked body, then moved to the champagne Henry had placed on her dressing table. “You—”

He broke off, and in the silence, she could see shock giving way to wariness and caution. “You left London.”

“The play closed.” She shrugged as if it was a matter of no consequence. “I had to find work.”

“Without even seeing me to say good-bye?”

“It seemed the best way.”

His gaze locked with hers. “Best for whom?”

Her courage began to flag, but she didn’t look away. “I told you, I had to find work, and no one in London seemed willing to hire me. So, I came back here. TheJardin de Pariswas happy to offer me a place.”

“You didn’t have to do this. I told you...” He paused, his gaze sliding to Henry, then back again. “I’ll take care of you.”

She didn’t reply, and he took a step toward her, but then he stopped. “Henry,” he said, his gaze not leaving her face, “leave us, please.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said before Henry could comply, and she knew she had to end this quickly, or she’d lose her nerve, and—God help them both—let him talk her into a different future. “I’d like Henry to stay.”

He set his jaw. “Why?”

“We’ve become... friends.” She sauntered over to where Henry sat on the settee and sank down beside him, watching Denys as an appreciation of all the implications dawned in his eyes. Pain followed—his pain—slicing into her like a knife, and she knew she had to get this over with before it annihilated her.

“I heard you’re thinking we might get married.” She laughed, a brittle sound that made him grimace. And although it took every scrap of willpower she had, and cost her more than anything she’d ever done on stage, she held his gaze. “I’m flattered, but Henry has made me a better offer.”

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