His Wicked Wish (6 page)

“Laggard,” she croaked. “There always be one in every crowd.”

“Pray forgive me.” He made a slight bow. “Nathan Atwood, at your service.”

Maddy's heart sank like a stone. So he
wasn't
the viscount, after all? She felt unaccountably disappointed to realize her mistake. She would have liked to have reviewed this man's offer and compared it to the others.

After all, he possessed physical attributes in abundance. And he deserved a gold star for his courtesy toward servants, too.

Who was he, then? Her vivid imagination leaped with possibilities. Could he be a journalist from one of the tittle-tattle news sheets writing an undercover story on the auction? Heavens, maybe that was why he'd been chatting with Gertie, to pump her for information.

“Weren't no Atwood on Miss Swann's list,” Maddy said. “Ye best be gone, sir. Ye ain't allowed here.”

She shook her cane at him, then hobbled over to the bench and started to gather up the dozen or so bids.

“I am indeed on the list. Miss Swann will know me as … Viscount Rowley.”

Maddy fumbled the papers. Several dropped to the wood planks of the floor. He sprang to her side at once, collecting the folded sheets and handing them back to her. It was a good thing because she could scarcely bend over with the dense padding constricting her midsection.

It was a bad thing, too, because Viscount Rowley was crouched right in front of her. Once again, he gazed into her face. He was close, so close she could see the golden flecks in his gorgeous green eyes.

Clutching the papers to her severe bodice, Maddy backed away and assumed the humble pose of a servant. “Thank ye, milord. Ye be most kind. Have ye a bid, then?”

“I do, indeed.” He paused, his eyes narrowed slightly. “However, I've a request to make. That's why I waited to be the last one here.”

Maddy found her curiosity piqued. “Aye, an' what might that be?”

“I've been abroad for the past ten years. The other gentlemen have all had the pleasure of making Miss Swann's acquaintance—which puts me at a distinct disadvantage. It seems only fair that I should be allowed to meet her in person before tendering my offer.”

“Nay!” she snapped. “I already said she's indisposed—she's ill.”

“I'm very sorry to hear it.” His expression reflected sympathy, though his sincerity immediately became suspect as he continued, “I won't keep her very long. It need be only a brief introduction. Enough for me to determine for myself if we are well suited.”

“'Tis impossible! She ain't here, anyhow, and that's that.”

“Then pray take me to her.” His mouth curved into a smile, proving that he did indeed have a matching set of attractive dimples. “Surely it can't hurt for you to ask her on my behalf. Please, madam, I'd greatly appreciate your help in the matter.”

The charm of that smile caused a quake inside of her. For one feverish moment, she was tempted to agree to his demand, to dash back to her dressing room and transform herself into a fashionable actress. But it would take far too long to untangle herself from this contraption around her waist and to scrub off her sticky makeup. She would need a bath to get the smell of the horsehair wig out of her tresses.

Why should she humor Lord Rowley, anyway? She already had granted him a special favor by allowing him to participate. He had no right to wheedle her for another.

He was probably hoping for a chance to use that dazzling smile on Madelyn Swann and gain an advantage over the other men. Well, she would call his bluff.

Maddy shook her head. “Beg pardon, milord. But I have me orders. Ye'll give me yer bid now or be cut out of the auction entirely.”

Lord Rowley's smile vanished. He studied her for a moment. Then, to her great satisfaction, he reached into an inner pocket of his coat and brought forth a folded paper. He tapped the edge against his open palm, his face serious as if he were deep in thought.

Excitement tingled inside her. He
had
been bluffing. He
would
give it to her. She'd have the chance to see just how much he was willing to offer for her.

He extended the bid to Maddy. She reached out to snatch it. Just as her fingers brushed the paper, however, he abruptly withdrew it, tucking the envelope back inside his coat.

“No,” he said decisively. “I'm afraid I must stand by my condition. No meeting, no offer.”

“But—”

“I'll bid you adieu, madam. Pray convey my sincere regrets to Miss Swann.”

With that, the viscount turned on his heel and strode away down the aisle. He didn't look back, not even once. A moment later, his tall figure disappeared into the shadows of the lobby.

 

Chapter 5

Maddy straightened up, abandoning the stooped posture of her disguise. She frowned at the darkened doorway and willed the viscount to reappear. He couldn't just walk away like that. He'd had the proposal right in his hand. Her fingers had touched it!

She wanted to march after him, to tell him that he could have his audience with Madelyn Swann on the morrow. Yes. Why hadn't she suggested that as an option? She need only hurry and catch him before he exited the theater …

Maddy darted three steps, then stopped in the aisle. Blast it, she couldn't go running after him as if she'd undergone a miraculous healing of her half-crippled state. She'd give away the masquerade. And why should she humiliate herself by chasing him down, anyway?

She had plenty of offers from the finest gentlemen in society. One less wouldn't matter.

Her lips pursed, Maddy laid the cane on the nearest bench. She took a moment to straighten the mess of folded papers that she'd been clutching against her bosom. There were fourteen of them in all. Discounting her cousin's and Lord Gerald's, that left twelve choices.

A full dozen who were every bit as eligible as Lord Rowley.

She aimed another scowl at the doorway where he had vanished. It was just as well he'd gone. Giving up so easily on the auction proved him to be a fickle man. It didn't speak well for his determination to acquire Madelyn Swann as his mistress.

She listed his faults. He was far too good-looking, which meant he was likely vain. In addition, he was entirely too charming. He must be accustomed to getting his own way, using his spellbinding smile as a tactic to entice women, even ancient hunchback crones.

It wouldn't work on her.

A woman of her station had to be practical in matters of the heart. In fact, Lord Rowley had done her a favor. He had made her realize that it would be best to choose a dull, unremarkable man as her lover. Such a fellow would appreciate her and not use his dimples to cajole her into doing his bidding.

She
intended to be the one in charge. Not a strutting cock with a flashy smile and fascinating green eyes.

With that resolve firmly in mind, Maddy took the stack of bids and headed back toward the short flight of steps to the stage. She'd go to her dressing room, remove this irksome disguise, and then return to her boardinghouse for the night. She could scarcely wait to sit down and peruse all the offers in private.

Several promising prospects came to mind. The Marquess of Herrington, in particular. He was a placid scholar and likely would spend most of his time with his nose in a book. So long as he provided her with the funds she needed, he would be one of her prime choices.

Ascending to the stage, Maddy tried to conjure Lord Herrington's image in her mind. But his nondescript features remained hazy. Did he have black hair or chocolate brown? A square jaw or rounded? Thin brows or bushy ones?

No matter. It would be dark in their bedchamber. When they cuddled together beneath the covers, she wouldn't be able to tell if he had plain brown eyes or brilliant green with gold flecks.

She wouldn't care, either, and that was that. She'd had enough drama to last a lifetime. Instead of learning her lines and participating in endless rehearsals, she would enjoy being pampered by a malleable man like Lord Herrington. He might not have dimples—she was certain of
that
—but he would provide her with the means to secure her future. Then, once she'd served as his mistress for a year's time, they'd part ways and she would be free to become an independent entrepreneur.

Satisfied with the plan, Maddy walked across the stage and headed toward the door that led backstage. The heels of the garnet slippers tap-tapped on the floorboards. How quiet and gloomy it was here, in stark contrast to most nights when the place teemed with activity.

She paused a moment to breathe deeply of the smells of wooden sets and musty paint, and to say a silent good-bye. She would miss this theater, the only real home she'd known since traveling all over England with Mama and Papa in a small troupe of actors. Yet it was time to go. Already the place felt like a part of her past, something to be remembered with fond nostalgia.

All of a sudden, a faint noise in the wings startled her. The small scrape sounded like a footstep.

Maddy called out, “Gertie? Is that you?”

No one answered. Nor should anyone. By now, the maid would be far away down the corridor, packing Maddy's belongings in the dressing room. The sound was likely a mouse, scrabbling for a crumb dropped by one of the crew members.

Then, as Maddy walked past the red curtains, something moved in the corner of her eye. She turned sharply. A few feet away, a black shadow shifted in the deep darkness of the wings.

The tall, hulking figure of a man.

He lunged at Maddy.

Her heart catapulted into her throat. Dropping the bids, she threw up her hands in self-defense and sucked in a breath. Even as she uttered a strangled yelp, she felt the wig being plucked from her head. Her blond hair sprang free and spilled down her back.

Frantic, she beat at her attacker's chest with her fists. It was like hammering a brick wall. He clamped his hands onto her shoulders and pushed her away, holding her at arm's length. A deep chuckle emanated from the darkness. “Calm down, Miss Swann. I mean you no harm.”

That voice. It sounded familiar …

“Let me go,” she snapped.

Her attacker complied at once. He stepped out of the gloom of the curtains. The dim gaslight fell upon his face, illuminating the dimples on either side of his mouth.

Viscount Rowley smirked at her. “It's just as I thought. You
are
Miss Swann.”

Stunned, Maddy could only gawk. He had gone out into the lobby. She'd seen him walk away. How had he stolen into the wings without her knowledge? He must have come through the service door hidden behind a column by the ticket booth.

How had he known it was there?

He bent down and picked up the horsehair wig from the floorboards, twirling it in his hand. “A clever disguise,” he said. “But your blue eyes gave you away. They're far too bright and youthful. Once I noticed that, it was easy to spot the rest—the smooth hands, the lack of a double chin, the areas that ought to sag but don't.”

With rakish boldness, he glanced down at her bosom. Her breasts tingled in response, and a hot flush spread beneath the putty wrinkles on her face. How was it that he could make her feel breathless with just one look?

Maddy despised his effect on her. She despised
him
for his arrogance in unmasking her. She felt naked without the wig. Exposed to his ridicule. She'd been right to suspect he had seen through the disguise. Right to think him conceited and superior. That wasn't an amiable smile on his face.

It was a grin of triumph.

Lord Rowley was pleased with himself. He was enjoying her embarrassment. He believed he'd bested her.

A tide of fury boiled up in Maddy. She snatched the wig from his hand. With all her might, she swung the hairpiece like a club to smack the grin off his face. “Scoundrel! Devilish trickster! How dare you sneak in here and frighten me half to death!”

He backed up a step and clapped his hand over his reddened cheek. “Pray forgive me, Miss Swann. However, I must object to being labeled a trickster when it was
you
who tricked
me
—and all those other fellows. We were the victims of
your
ruse.”

“Victim? You're a filthy, pig-headed jackanapes, that's what. A nasty, arrogant clodpate!”

“I've never before been cursed by a Shakespearean actress. I must compliment you on your phraseology.”

Humor still played at the corners of his mouth. He found her tirade amusing.
Amusing!

Infuriated, she beat him about the shoulders and neck with the curled gray wig. “Don't you mock me, you horrid coxcomb!”
Whack!
“You thought you were so clever, pretending to be gentlemanly, assisting the old crone down the stairs.”
Whack, whack!
“As if I'd ever choose a vile, despicable scapegrace like you.”
Whack, whack, whack!

At that point, the wig broke apart into pieces, which she flung at his chest. He brushed a few horsehair curls off his coat, and then with an earnest look, he flattened his hand over his heart. “I swear on my mother's grave, I didn't know about the disguise when I first came to your aid. It was only as I was helping you descend that I observed certain … anomalies.”

“Stop trying to bamboozle me! I'd sooner believe a forger handing me a fistful of banknotes.” She fixed him with a scathing glare. “Speaking of bamboozling, why were you talking to my maid at the back of the theater? What were you saying to her?”

Lord Rowley arched an eyebrow. “I'm not at liberty to reveal a private conversation.”

His caginess only fed Maddy's anger. He was grinning at her again, the deep indentations that bracketed his mouth making him revoltingly handsome. “Devious rascal! You're naught but a strutting cock, showing your dimples and flashing your pretty smile to charm every woman you meet!”