Page 9 of Because You're Mine
After an intricate maze of plot twists, the villain finally realized that even if he succeeded in marrying the beautiful girl, he would never win her love. Assuming the part of an anonymous benefactor, he helped them elope with each other, never letting them know that he was the one responsible for their happiness. Mr. Scott played the role without a touch of self-pity, never letting down the cynical mask he wore, but somehow his rigid control let the audience know that his heart was broken. The play’s ending was satisfyingly bittersweet.
Hearty shouts and claps of enthusiasm filled the theater, persisting until the actors had returned to the stage to receive their due. Scott was greeted with the most applause, which he accepted with a faint smile and bow. The program for the next night was announced, and the curtain closed for the last time, despite the fact that the audience clamored for more.
Madeline took care to slip away before Mr. Scott saw her again. She caught sight of his dark head backstage just as he was surrounded by a crowd of admirers. They all wanted to be near him. Sighing, Madeline went to retrieve her coat from the duchess’s office.
“Madeline.” She looked up to see the Duchess of Leeds. “Did you enjoy the play?”
Madeline struggled to find the right words. “Oh, it was the most wonderful thing I’ve ever experienced!”
“My goodness,” the duchess said, laughing at her enthusiasm.
“No wonder they call Mr. Scott a living legend. He…he…” Madeline paused, not knowing how to describe her reaction to him.
“Yes, I know,” the duchess replied, a smile remaining on her lips.
Madeline’s exhilaration faded suddenly. “I’m afraid Mr. Scott saw me backstage tonight. He still objects to me. He made that very clear.”
Julia’s brows lifted in surprise. “That isn’t like him. He’s never taken issue with anyone I’ve hired. I don’t see why—” She broke off, staring at Madeline with a perplexed expression. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll meet with him tomorrow morning before rehearsal, and everything will be resolved.”
“I hope so, Your Grace.” Madeline paused. “I want to work at the Capital very badly.”
“Then you shall,” the duchess assured her. “Unless Mr. Scott can produce a very good reason to the contrary—and I expect that will be very unlikely.”
Two
Logan stoodat the back of the Capital Theatre’s carpentry shop and regarded the double flats critically. The newly constructed stage pieces, made of canvas stretched over ribbed timber frames, would soon be sent to the scene painters.
“We’ve never made ones this large before,” Logan commented to the pair of carpenters who had propped up the hinged flats for his inspection. “How will they be supported?”
“We thought it best to weight the braces in back,” the main carpenter, Robbie Cleary, replied. “That should keep them steady during the performances.”
Logan reached out with a broad hand to grasp a timber beam and test its sturdiness. “You’d better hook the back flat to a wooden rod and screw it to the floor. I don’t want any chance of it falling on anyone. It’s a damned heavy piece.”
Robbie nodded in agreement and walked behind the flat, surveying it closely. The double flats had been constructed so that the front piece could be collapsed under its own weight to provide a quick scene change, revealing the second painted flat just behind it. It was a tricky bit of work, requiring the right combination of skill and timing to avoid errors.
Standing back from the set of hinged flats, Logan tugged absently at the front of his hair. “Let’s see how the first one collapses,” he said.
“All right, Mr. Scott,” Robbie said doubtfully. “Though I should warn ye, I’ve yet to test the procedure.”
“Now’s as good a time as any.”
Jeff, the shopboy, darted forward to assist the carpenters, lending his slight weight to help hold the double flats in place.
“Let the front down,” Robbie instructed, and his assistants began to collapse the first scene.
Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw someone enter the shop, a slender girl carrying a broom, a dustpan, and an armload of cleaning rags. The new girl, Logan realized with a pang of irritation. She seemed to be unaware of the demonstration taking place—and she was walking directly into the path of the collapsing flat. “Watch out, damn you!” Logan said sharply. She paused and looked at him with the inquiring eyes of a newborn fawn, while the timber frame toppled toward her.
Automatically Logan rushed forward and seized her, turning to shield her with his own body. The heavy flat landed on his injured shoulder, resulting in an explosion of pain that made him curse and stagger. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. Somehow he managed to remain on his feet. He was dimly aware of Robbie and the others scurrying to lift the flat and drag it away, while the girl stepped back from him.
“Mr. Scott?” she asked in confusion. “Are you all right? I’m so terribly sorry.”
Logan shook his head slightly, his face white, his every bit of strength devoted to fighting back a tide of nausea. He would not disgrace himself by losing his breakfast in the middle of the carpentry shop. Always conscious of maintaining his authoritative image, he was never sick, never weak, and never indecisive in front of his employees.
“Oh, your shoulder,” Madeline exclaimed, staring at his shirt, where a few spots of blood from the reopened wound had begun to appear. “What can I do?”
“Stay away from me,” Logan muttered, finally winning his battle against the nausea. He took a deep, reviving breath. “Why in God’s name are you here?”
“I was going to sweep up the wood scraps and shavings, and clean the carpenters’ tools, and…is there something you would like me to do, sir?”
