Page 14 of Because You're Mine
A resigned smile crossed Madeline’s face. “I’m afraid that can’t be helped, ma’am. I can’t afford a new gown.”
“I’ll give it some consideration,” the elderly woman assured her. “I’ll think of something.”
Madeline smiled, admiring Mrs. Florence’s crafty energy and enthusiasm. “I’m glad I asked for your advice, ma’am.”
“So am I, Maddy. This is the most excitement I’ve had in years, taking part in your scheme. With my help, you’ll lead Mr. Scott to your bed like a lamb to the slaughter.”
“I hope so,” Madeline replied. “However…I don’t imagine he’ll be anything like a lamb.”
“That’s for you to discover, my dear. In my experience, men are often different in bed than they are out of it. Actors are the most unpredictable lovers of all. One never knows when they’re playing a part.” She turned a placid countenance toward the fire, plotting silently, while the maid brought Madeline a supper tray.
After the servant had left, Madeline spoke again. “Mrs. Florence, is there any way of knowing what to expect?”
The elderly woman looked at her questioningly, having lost the thread of the conversation.
“About how a man might be as a lover,” Madeline clarified.
“I think you’ll be able to tell a great deal from the way he kisses you.” Suddenly Mrs. Florence seemed amused, and she toyed with a loose strand of her silvery-peach hair. “In fact, that’s a very good idea. Why don’t you surprise Mr. Scott with a kiss? That’s a bold, stylish ploy. It will certainly intrigue him.”
“But how?…when?”
“I’ll leave that to your imagination, Maddy. You’ll find an appropriate moment.”
Surprise him with a kiss. Mrs. Florence’s mischievous suggestion hovered in Madeline’s thoughts during the next day. There wouldneverbe an appropriate time to do such a thing. If only she had her older sister Justine’s great beauty or Althea’s cleverness. But she was terribly ordinary, and Mr. Scott was…unreachable.
She saw the effect he had on others, the crowds of aristocrats who gathered around his dressing room door after a performance, the actors and actresses who sought his advice. Everyone wanted something from him.Even me, Madeline thought in sheepish discomfort. She wanted the most personal service of all from him, and with any luck he would never know why.
In an effort to learn more about him, Madeline approached Arlyss Barry while she was having tea alone in the greenroom. Arlyss was a fountain of information. She knew intimate details about everyone in the company and loved to gossip about them all.
“You’d like to know more about Mr. Scott?” Arlyss asked, popping a sugared biscuit into her mouth. Although Mrs. Lyttleton grumbled about Arlyss’s overly voluptuous figure, it seemed that Arlyss couldn’t control her own sweet tooth. “So would we all, Maddy. Mr. Scott is the most fascinating man I’ve ever met, and the most difficult to know. He’s fanatical about his privacy. He never invites anyone to his home. To my knowledge no one in the company has ever visited him there, except for the duchess.”
Madeline frowned. “Were Mr. Scott and the duchess ever—”
Arlyss shook her head, brown curls dancing. “They’ve always been too much alike, I suppose, both of them so in love with the theater that there was never room for anyone else. Then Julia met the duke, and…but that’s another story. To answer your question: Julia and Mr. Scott were never romantically involved. She told me that Mr. Scott believes falling in love is the worst possible thing that could ever happen to him.”
“But why?”
Arlyss shrugged cheerfully. “That’s the mystery of Mr. Scott. He’s a bundle of secrets, that one.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer over her cup of tea. “I’ll tell you something that few people know: Mr. Scott was the son of a tenant farmer. He never even went to school. Can you imagine it?”
“No, I…” Madeline was genuinely amazed. “He seems so cultured, so noble—”
“He seems that way,” Arlyss agreed. “But he’s come from beginnings that would make yours and mine look like royalty. In fact, Julia once hinted to me that Mr. Scott was terribly mistreated—beaten and half-starved by his father. It’s why his family never visits the theater or is allowed to watch a performance. Hepaysthem to stay away from him.”
Madeline pondered the information, while Arlyss delved into the tin of biscuits. She tried to imagine Mr. Scott as a boy, living with poverty and abuse, and it was impossible to reconcile that picture with the powerful, self-assured owner of the Capital Theatre. He had assumed such godlike dimensions in the public’s eyes—and her own—that she found it hard to believe he had escaped a past as humble as the one Arlyss had described.
So that was where Mr. Scott’s talent came from, she thought with a stirring of compassion. A man couldn’t leave his old life and invent a new one for himself without having an extraordinary amount of imagination—and determination.
“Excuse me, Miss Barry,” she murmured. “I have work to do.”
Arlyss winked at her and picked up a play folio, silently mouthing her lines as she memorized them.
Madeline went down the hall to Mr. Scott’s office, her heart quickening as she approached the threshold. The door was open, revealing his back as he sat at his massive mahogany desk. His white linen shirt, once crisp and freshly pressed, was now creased as it clung to his broad shoulders. He had discarded the pale gray waistcoat he had worn all day, as well as the black silk cravat.
It was odd to see Mr. Scott still and quiet when he had been so relentlessly active all day. He seemed to have the energy of ten men, striding about his theater like the captain of a ship. One moment he had been directing the actors during rehearsal, alternately cajoling and demanding until their performances satisfied him…and the next he was in the scene painter’s shop, moving heavy set pieces and flats, explaining how he wanted them painted until it seemed that he might pick up a brush and do the job himself.
Every member of the company knew that his or her work would sooner or later come under his scrutiny, and they labored to please him. When they were given a word or two of praise, they glowed with satisfaction. Madeline longed to win similar attention from him, so that he would take notice of her as someone other than a troublesome employee.
As Madeline paused in the doorway, Mr. Scott stiffened, the heavy muscles moving across his back. Although she hadn’t made a sound, he turned in his chair and glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes questioning.
