Revenge Wears Rubies (15 page)

“I-I’m sorry, what will delight me?” she asked, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

“A tour of the very private and exciting spaces behind the stage! Mr. Blakely is offering to lead us into the heart of the magical beast, as he calls it!”

“It is quite a labyrinth, but I vow to return you safely to the world you know,” Mr. Blakely added, waving his hand with the flourish of a practiced showman.

Haley had no desire to face the nightmare of a labyrinth of narrow brick passageways and the confines of a theatre’s makeshift catacombs, but Aunt Alice perked up before she could respond. “A tour! How fascinating!”

Haley shook her head. “I’ll . . . stay here. I’m not sure I’m ready to abandon the world I know.”

“Nonsense!” Herbert looked at her as if she’d suddenly grown a third eye. “It would be rude to refuse such a generous offer, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to insult our friends!”

“No.” Haley took a deep breath. “Of course not. Just promise you won’t leave me.”

Herbert smiled, instantly placated. “Never!” He looked merrily at Miss Langston and held out his arm. “May I?”

The actress took his arm, and Haley had to blink twice to maintain her composure as he walked off on her arm without a thought in his head. Mrs. Shaw started to voice her sympathy, but when Mr. Blakely offered his arm in turn, her attention was also diverted from the issue at hand.

Haley had no choice but to follow behind the quartet and leave the party for an impromptu journey into the “heart of the magical beast.”

It was worse than she’d imagined. Less than twenty minutes into their tour, she’d been forced to stop to unsnag her petticoats from a nail on a wooden prop box, and by the time she’d looked back up the dim corridor, she was completely alone.

Surely Aunt Alice is going to look back and realize I’m not there!
But after a minute or two, doubt smothered hope as she accepted that when it came to a man spouting inane bits of prose about her “flowering beauty,” Aunt Alice wouldn’t notice a house fire.

Separated from their small party, her worst visions had come true. Old scenery flats leaning against the walls enhanced the optical illusion that the walls were collapsing around her. The narrow halls and manmade labyrinth of spiral staircases, rolls of canvas, and odd little passages were like an alien landscape, and Haley’s panic began to grow with each step.

She tried to call out for her aunt, but her throat closed tight. She thought she saw shadowed faces in some of the corners; that they were ogre-like added to her terror. The monsters of childish fairy tales took shape around each corner, and she began to shake at the powerful coil of fear that began to tighten inside of her.

She tried to retrace her steps, but everything began to look alike in the same oppressive, menacing manner of half-constructed ruins and false walls and doors, as if the very building had been designed to keep her trapped and confused.

The idea made it harder for her to breathe, and Haley knew she was getting closer and closer to an outright state of panic. Thinking about a lack of air was as suffocating a thought as any other, and Haley had to put out a hand against a small, disassembled staircase leaning against the wall to try to regain control.

She screamed as the skittering kiss of a rat’s feet and tail moved across her fingers in the dark, and she fainted dead away.

Galen watched with relief as her eyelashes fluttered, heralding her recovery. She was in Indian ruby red again, and the impact of it on his senses hadn’t lessened. He’d laid her on a narrow velvet couch with gilt griffons at her head, pressed a cool wet cloth at the back of her neck, and decided it was better to wait than gently harass her back to the waking world. When her sea-colored eyes took him in, he watched the flood of color in her face and knew she was suffering from a surge of miserable embarrassment at being seen this way. She closed her eyes again briefly as if to wish him away.

“For a woman who never faints, I would say that was well done.”

Her eyes opened with a quick start, her feisty spirit returning. “I’m . . . where is this place?” She sat up, temporarily distracted by the shocking sight of a dressing screen draped with corsets and lacy undergarments, brocade curtains that adorned stone walls instead of windows, and, no doubt, the sinking suspicion that she’d landed in another woman’s most intimate closet.

“Miss Langston’s dressing room.” Galen struggled not to smile. “It was the nearest and best place to lay you down. I thought you’d prefer to recover in some privacy.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Besides hiding?” he teased, deliberately holding his position next to the small sofa so that she would keep her seat and have a few more minutes to recover her equilibrium. “I confess I arrived too late for the main performance, but I couldn’t stay away when I saw that there might be a chance to see you alone. Though”—he shook his head—“this wasn’t exactly what I’d envisioned, Miss Moreland. Are you ill?”

“No.” She straightened her skirts nervously then reached up to make sure the ivory combs holding back her curls were still intact. “I don’t . . . like tight spaces.”

For a moment, the memory of chains and blackness came rushing back, and Galen could only nod in sympathy.

She stood, forcing him to also stand. “I should return to the party and wait for the others there.”

“I’ll escort you out.”

She started to reach out to accept the arm he’d proffered, but then she stopped. “What if someone sees us? How will I explain—this?”

“Mere coincidence should do it. I was also at the theatre, and if you wish to deflect anyone’s questions, you could hint that I must have been waiting in Miss Langston’s dressing room when I heard you outside.” Galen savored the look on her face as she absorbed the implications of his offer.

“But that would mean . . .” Her eyes widened. “Were you waiting for her in here?”

“Are you jealous?”

“No!” But he’d caught her in a lie, and they both knew it. Haley stamped her foot in frustration. “I don’t care if you meet every actress from here to the Strand!”

“I shall make a note to that effect.” He crossed his arms, deliberately giving her a look that conveyed his disbelief.

“I thought you said you would retreat forever if I kissed you in the park!”

“I said I would if you commanded it after you’d kissed me, but as I remember it . . . you never said anything remotely close afterward.”

“Well, I’m saying it now!”

He gave her a look full of regret. “Too late. The offer expired as soon as you rode off.”

Her eyes narrowed, and he was sure if she could have spit flames, she’d have set his waistcoat on fire.

It was too tempting. “If you’d care to kiss me again, I could make a similar offer and this time you can send me to the ends of the earth if you remember to.”

“I am
never
going to kiss you again, Mr. Hawke. What do you say to that?”

“Galen.”

Haley’s eyes widened in apparent confusion. “Pardon?”

“My name.” Galen shifted the weight of his body to the balls of his feet, subtly ensuring that he could move in any direction and with any speed he needed to reach her when the moment called for it. “Vows involving the subject of kissing should always use a man’s Christian name. I’m fairly sure it’s English law.”

“You’re deliberately trying to provoke me.” Her voice was low, her eyes darkening, and Galen held perfectly still, a hunter afraid of frightening off his prey.

“Yes.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I enjoy the way the color in your eyes changes when you are . . . impassioned.” It was the truth, and Galen continued, hoping that just enough of the truth would bind her a little tighter to him. “Because it allows me to catch a glimpse of what you might look like, Miss Moreland, if you ever let yourself go wherever ‘provocation’ might take you.”

“To . . . to what end?” she whispered, then unconsciously moistened her lips with the very tip of her tongue, sending a wrenching arc of need through her opponent to taste her mouth again.

“To allow me to imagine. To allow me to hope,” he replied in the same intimate tone, holding his hands at his sides by sheer force of will, “that a lady”—he took a step toward her, the front of his waistcoat less than two inches from the tiny pleated ruffles on her décolletage—“could change her mind.”

“I . . .” Her confusion was a beautiful sight to behold, cheeks flushed and eyes shining, her lovely chest heaving with the effort to keep up with her pounding heart, but Galen decided it was enough for now.

“Come, let’s get you safely upstairs.” He stepped back and held out his arm. “And since the last thing we want is a scandal, I promise I’ll leave you before we reach the public party and ensure that no one knows that you didn’t make your own way out of these backstage rooms alone.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hawke.” She took his arm, her fingers wrapping around the crook of his elbow, and Galen smiled.

Chapter
9