The Temptation of Laura (3 page)

“We are back onstage in ten, everyone. Onstage in ten!”

The harassed call of the stage manager penetrated Adam’s self-pity and he blinked, pulling back his shoulders. His ambition would forever override his fear. Onward and upward. Something would come along. If it did not, he was not averse to doing manual labor until something did. Theater was his life—and he would do anything to keep it so.

After a visit to the makeup chair and the bathroom, he was ready for the second curtain call. Inhaling a deep breath, he waited in the wings, his spine ramrod straight, his confidence renewed. He would not allow another moment of negativity to seep in him. He was on the precipice of something life changing. It simmered in his blood. Something would soon happen to turn that simmer into a burning flame.

The orchestra struck up with a bang and a crash, the curtain rose, and he ran onstage. The music filled his soul and the audience applause licked at his ego. People paid good money for an exemplary show, and there had not been a single afternoon or night he had not delivered just that. He addressed the audience and began his lines.

“If only hope rose at the same time each day as does the sun . . .” He stopped, further words catching in his throat.

She stood a little way from the front.

Her eyes alert and her smile lifting the corners of her mouth in such a way he could not be sure if she enjoyed or mocked him. Her soft study drilled through his chest and scratched at the place beneath.

Their gaze met and her smile slipped. Her eyes grew wide and she stumbled backward, apparently as dumbstruck as he.

“My Lord, is everything all right? You have paled awfully.”

He snapped his head around. Monica dipped her head as she prompted him, the line improvised but clear in its message. Adam stared, his mind racing.

His heart pounded and his legs trembled. Somehow or other, he found his place and resumed his role. Everything inside wanted to look at the beautiful stranger again. To make sure she had not left. If she had, how would he find her in a city as big as Bath? Panic bled with excitement as he threw himself into this scene and the next, determined to finish the play as he always did. With his best.

The second half passed in a blur and he manically scanned the crowd as he took his final bow. She had gone. Nowhere to be seen. The curtain dropped. The assembled cast erupted into a furor of congratulations as Adam fought the urge to run into the audience to search for the girl who would play his Lucinda.

Come hell or high water, he would find the woman with the eyes as big as a doe’s and hair the color of burnished bronze.

Laura topped off her and Bette’s glasses with a tot of ale from the bottle she’d picked up on the way home from the theater. It was probably an extravagance too far after the cost of the theater ticket, but life was taking a good turn and they deserved to celebrate. Exhilaration penetrated every inch of her body. What a place the Theater Royal had been! What a future it could hold for her. She took a slug from her glass before setting it down on the table. She could barely sit still for the excitement running through her veins.

“It’s the answer, Bette.” She grinned. “I know deep in my bones the Theater Royal holds the answer to our problems.”

A rare light twinkled in Bette’s eyes along with the flush of alcohol at her cheeks. “You look fit to burst. What in God’s name happened while you were there? You see the queen or something?”

Adam Lacey’s image rushed into Laura’s mind, and she pushed it aside as she stood and twirled around, her arms wide. “I saw my future.”

“On the stage? I’m not surprised. I see the way you gawp at that place every time we pass.” Bette laughed. “You’ve got dreams bigger than the ocean, my girl.”

Laura swallowed. Was she really that transparent? She waved her hand. “Don’t talk daft. I’m talking about the laughter, the happiness, and the opportunities. Seeing Ellen a couple of days ago, dressed to the nines and preening like the cat that got the cream, was just the tip of it.” She grinned. “God, there were whores everywhere. They were clasping the arms of gentlemen just as blatant as can be. Sitting on their laps and sucking orange juice from their lips. Lord only knows what their hands were doing.” She winked.

“And that’s what put such a smile on your face?”

Laura nodded. “Yes, because they weren’t dressed in gaudy, flashy cast-offs. They were dressed like ladies. Ladies with feathers in their hats and jewels at their throats. Can you imagine? These men they’re escorting are paying for that. Paying to be seen with a well-dressed whore. I knew it went on, but my God, to see it in reality was something else.”

“It’s still whoring, whichever way you look at it.” Bette took a sip of her drink. “Granted, I’d rather think of you rubbing shoulders with gentry than with the likes of Malcolm Baxter, but still, didn’t we agree there are other ways of earning?”

Laura swiped her drink from the table and took another sip. “Either way, I’m going back there tomorrow.”

“To do what?”

“To find what the place has to offer
me.
”

“You’re thinking of finding one of those gentlemen for yourself, ain’t you?”

“Not necessarily.” Laura glanced toward the window. How could the idea to net the exclusive protection of a wealthy gentleman not have passed through her mind before? Lord knows, whoring was the only thing she knew for sure she was good at.

She faced Bette and shrugged. “I’m considering it, but that don’t mean I’ll do it.”

The minute she stepped into the theater, it was as though she’d come home. Found where she was supposed to be. Never in her twenty-two years of gracing God’s earth had such a sense of belonging swept her soul. The hustle and bustle of people around her, the smell of rose water mixed with cigars, and the faint hint of alcohol seeped into her pores and lit her ambition.

She drew in a breath. “I felt different when I was there.”

“Different?” Bette frowned. “What sort of different?”

Laura smiled. Always her protector. “Like I belonged there. Like I could spend every day and night inside those walls and never be unhappy.”

“I see.” Bette shuffled back against the pillows, her gaze wary.

“I know something can happen for me if I can just find a way in.” She sighed. “All I’m saying is, if there’s no other sort of jobs going when I get there, I might need to find one of those wealthy gentlemen to pave the way for a while.”

Bette’s intelligent, rheumy eyes bored into hers and Laura steeled herself, waiting for her friend’s ever-growing cynicism. It was as though, with every ailing breath Bette took, a little more of her friend’s positivity faded. She wouldn’t let Bette convince her the theater held little more than velvet curtains and costumes.

Bette slowly sipped her ale, her gaze steady above the mug’s rim. “I think you might be right.”

Surprise jolted Laura and she stared. “You do?”

Bette emitted a croak of laughter and set her mug on the table beside her. “I do. I think you’ll find more than a gentleman there. I think you’ll find your life’s destiny.”

“What?” Laura snorted. “I’m not talking mystics and fancy clothes. I’m talking good, hard work and paid in kind.”

“Did you watch the show?”

Heat seared her cheeks. Damn it. The woman knew what Laura thought before she did half the time. “Well, I saw some of it. How could I not?”

“And what did you make of what you saw?”

She clasped her hands together, lest Bette see how they shook. “I made nothing of it.”

Bette lifted an eyebrow. “Nothing of the actors?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“Nothing of the delectable Adam Lacey?” Bette winked.

Laura glared. “No.”

The silence stretched out, but she refused to fill it. Bette might know she’d stared at the actor’s picture. So what? Hadn’t a million and one other women done the exact same thing?

She couldn’t possibly guess how her feet had welded to the floor like it was coated with melted wax when Adam Lacey met her eyes. Bette couldn’t know how when he looked at her, it was the first time in forever Laura had stood before a man emotionally naked, vulnerable, and entirely his for the taking.

Bette cleared her throat. “Sing the song, Laura.”

“What song?” She squeezed her eyes shut.
No, no, no
.

“Any song you heard there tonight.”

She pulled back her shoulders. “Why would you want me to sing?”

“Because that’s what you were born to do, my darling. You sing and move, dance and hum whenever you’re not whoring, washing, wiping, or cleaning. You don’t need to go to that theater for a gentleman, you need to go there and put yourself onstage. It’s where you belong.”

Bette grimaced and collapsed onto the bed, sucking in an audible breath.

Laura rushed to help her. “You’re tired. Lie down and get some rest. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

“I’ll rest when your voice is ringing in my ears and not before.” Bette coughed, her breath crackling horribly beneath her ribs. “Sing me a ballad from the show. Send me to peaceful slumber with that sweet voice of yours in my head.”

“Bette—”

“Please. Show me I know what I’m talking about.”

Bette’s eyes closed and her face fell into repose.

Tears smarted Laura’s eyes and she swiped them away, her hand shaking. No tears, no fear. “Fine. There was a ballad.”

A soft smile. “I know.”

Laura inhaled a long breath and infused herself in the role so beautifully portrayed by the wonderful Monica Danes. She opened her mouth and the ballad’s lyrics drifted like sweet oxygen from her lungs.

“You are the only one I see. The only one I long to hold. . . .”

As she closed her eyes, the orchestra resounded in her head. She smoothed her hands over her imagined gown of gold and scarlet velvet, and lifted her fingers to the pearls in her hair. Around and around she turned, her heart breaking for the coveted love of a man out of reach. A man encapsulated in the gorgeous form of Adam Lacey.

Opening her eyes, she stared in starry-eyed wonder around her. Gone were the bland walls and rickety furniture of her and Bette’s abode. Instead, there he stood, high above her upon a stage festooned in exquisitely painted scenery lit by the golden hue of lanterns. Adam Lacey’s eyes met hers, and he stared as though she was the most beautiful woman in the whole of Bath and beyond. . . .

Heat suffused Laura’s body and attraction pulled at her center. Oh, to have him hold her and speak those blessed lines!

She blinked and snapped her mouth closed.

Panic galloped through her blood. She and Bette needed food and money, not love and fantasy.

“Bette, this is madness.”

Her friend’s soft breathing floated over and Laura released her held breath. Bette slept.

 

The following night, Laura’s nerves jangled as she shifted from one foot to the other outside the Theater Royal. The crowds waiting in line moved and chattered around her as they waited for the doors to open. The matinee performance was half the full ticket price, but it was still money she and Bette could ill afford to spend. Laura tightened her jaw. No, she wouldn’t think that way. This was an investment.

If she wanted a job in the theater—or a gentleman of the theater—to keep Malcolm Baxter from their door, they had to put a bit of money out first. Clutching her purse, she breathed deeply in an effort to calm the nerves bouncing like a million rubber balls through her belly. She didn’t know if she was more nervous about netting an unsuspecting gentleman or seeing Adam Lacey onstage again.

The look in his eyes from the night before had yet to leave her recollection for a minute. It was as though he knew her. As though he stared at a ghost. His eyes had grown wider and wider until his mouth dropped open and his body turned rigid. Why had he stared at her that way? There was as much chance of him knowing her as her knowing one of the royal princes.

A murmured cheer up ahead shook Laura from her thoughts and she stood on tiptoes to see what the commotion was about. The line was moving forward. The doors had opened.

She pressed her hand to her stomach and stepped forward.
No turning back now.

Once inside, she resisted the urge to gape and gawk as she had before and forced nonchalance into her stance and demeanor. Pleased she’d chosen to wear her best frock from her wardrobe of relinquished cast-offs, she glanced about her. At least she seemed to be holding up to the standard.

She might not have the riches of the wealthy ladies with intricately beaded dresses and hats of the most beautiful design, but she didn’t stand out as a street urchin amongst them either. Swallowing her nerves, she planted on a smile. She might be a whore, but tonight she sought more. Who knew what jobs the theater had to offer? There had to be something.

Clutching her ticket, she moved through the crowd into the theater proper and took a seat close to the exit. Her place by the aisle meant she could observe the comings and goings of the audience with minimal effort or the need for anyone to think her glances odd or suspect. She looked to the huge clock mounted on the wall above her. Another hour before the main feature was due to begin.

Plenty of time to survey the staff as they weaved among the theatergoers. Maybe she could catch the friendly eye of someone willing to help her secure a position. More and more people entered the auditorium, and even though several men and women appraised her through narrowed eyes, no one approached her. A relieved breath shuddered from between her lips.

At least she didn’t look as though she was there scouting for business.

Worrying her bottom lip, she glanced around the theater once more. Something worthwhile had to happen that afternoon—no way in the world she could afford another ticket to return.

Maybe she should stretch her legs and have a wander. She had a good vantage of the people coming to and from the auditorium, but where was the staff? She glanced upward toward the boxes adjacent to the stage where waiters served glasses of champagne. She looked left and a woman offered some sort of confectionary to a richly dressed couple peering down their noses at her.

She could do that, couldn’t she?

Laura Robinson could do anything she set her mind to. Standing, she left her ticket on the seat to reserve it and made her way down the aisle to meander across the walkway in front of the stage.

Smiling demurely, she fought her nerves as her confidence faltered. Had her testimony against a client in court last year traveled along the grapevine and through the doors of the theater too? Did people know what she really was? She pulled back her shoulders. She was being paranoid. No one knew her here. She moved from the stage and strolled up the opposite aisle, her trained eye waiting for the slightest interest of a potential manager.

Her shoulder bumped something solid. She turned and came face-to-face with a young woman selling refreshments.

“Pardon me, miss.” The woman tilted her basket. “Can I interest you in my wares? I’ve got oranges, nuts, sweets or chocolate . . .”

Laura stared. “My God, Tess?”

The girl’s eyes widened. “Laura? Laura Robinson? You look fantastic.”

Dropping her basket at her feet, Tess opened her arms and they embraced. Laura’s heart swelled with fondness for Tess and the companionship they’d kept, along with Bette, years before. She swallowed. Times when their financial situation had been very nearly as bad as it was becoming now.

She pulled back and held Tess at arm’s length. “How long have you worked here?”

The girl’s pretty face lit up with pride, her dark eyes shining in the subdued light. “Close on a year.”

“A year? And you’re managing on the wages?”

“Of course.” She glanced at Laura’s dress, a hint of envy in her gaze. “I clearly don’t earn the cash you do, but still . . .” She lifted her shoulders. “It means I’m out of . . . you know.”

Laura knew exactly . . . and now it was her turn to stare in envy. “I see.”

Tess’s hands slipped from hers and she leaned down to retrieve her basket. “You don’t seem to be doing too badly, though.”

Laura’s smile dissolved. “Bette’s ill, Tess. Really ill.”

Tess’s face twisted in sympathy and she clutched Laura’s arm. “She’ll pull through, won’t she? Bette’s made of stronger stuff than any of us. Nothing will bring her down.”

“With Bette ill and me not being as active as I used to, the money’s drying up. I need to work and I came here hoping to get lucky. I need a job. A real job. I’d love to give up the whoring, but when I bumped into Ellen Jenkins outside the theater a couple of nights ago, I thought she might have the right idea.”