Chapter 4
Protectiveness over paper. Who would have thought such a thing could exist?
Yet, the feeling hurtling through Adam’s heart as he sat in one of the back rooms of the theater with his director could not be described as anything else. He tightened his jaw and studied the portraits of past stars gracing the walls. Undoubtedly, each one had come to Bath as young and as ambitious as he—and either gone on to tread the boards at London’s West End or were now languishing on the slag heap. Acting was a two-way street, without junctions veering in alternative directions.
He was learning fast you either went up or down. There was no in between.
The scrunch and crumple of his manuscript pages in the director’s hands veered his attention. For the last excruciatingly painful fifteen minutes, the man had scanned and tossed the sheets aside as though the words portrayed recipe instructions rather than the outpouring of Adam’s soul.
“And you say you’ve no investment whatsoever?”
Adam met the cool study of his soon-to-be ex-director. A week to the finale of his current acting job and counting. The dire truth of his financial situation thumped him up the side of the head for the fortieth time that day.
He shook his head. “No, that is what I was hoping you can help me with.”
Victor Talisman, currently Bath’s most sought-after director, regarded him from beneath heavy lids. “The play’s not bad, son, but it isn’t brilliant either.”
“I just need a bit of belief from someone. Someone willing to take an informed risk.” Adam resisted the urge to clasp his hand to the back of Victor’s absurdly thick neck and demand he see sense. Instead, he curled his fingers into a fist on the table between them. “If you could mention it to a few producers. Tell them I write. Tell them I have this play and, with the right amount of backing, you’re confident the theater will run it for a couple of weeks to at least gauge the reaction.”
Victor stood and ambled his stocky, five-foot-ten-inch frame across the room. He gazed out the window to the street below. “Do you know how many of these scripts get wafted under my nose every day?”
Adam stared at Victor’s turned back. “I can imagine.”
“I very much doubt that.”
“Look, maybe I should not have commandeered you this way in between performances, but I’ve been trying to speak to you about this for weeks.” Adam stood. “If you could just give me a chance. Or if
you
cannot, maybe speak to a few people at the Rooms tonight. If nothing else, suggest they read it.”
Victor turned and ran his gaze over Adam from head to toe. He smiled and raised his eyebrows. “Well, your desperation doesn’t help your case.”
Soft light sparkled in Victor’s eyes and Adam laughed, his shoulders relaxing somewhat as he glanced down at his clothes. “Maybe I should have approached you dressed in shirt and tails rather than my damn costume, but time is running out—”
“For whom?” Victor’s smile dissolved. “Do you not realize you are on the precipice of your career? After your performance in this show, people will sit up and take notice of Adam Lacey. Mark my words.”
Frustration raced through Adam, searing hot at his face. “So you say. Yet no one is knocking on my door. I need to work. I need to write.”
He narrowed his eyes. “More than you need to act?”
“I . . .” Writing certainly mattered to him more and more over acting, but to admit to such could mean the end of further roles coming his way. He blew out a breath. “I cannot answer that.”
Victor cleared his throat. “Seems to me, son, that’s the bigger question, rather than whether or not you get your creation onto the stage.” He wandered back to the table and picked up one of the many sheets he’d discarded.
Adam’s stomach knotted with trepidation. He was desperate. He barely had eight weeks’ rent left if he didn’t find work soon. The familiar sense of failure engulfed him. He could not let Victor know of his situation. Confidence was key to a breakthrough in Adam’s unerring quest for a backer. He shook his head.
“Acting will always be important to me, but I cannot deny how much I believe in this play and what it means to me.”
Victor met his eyes. “Which is?”
“Everything. I have fought tooth and nail to avoid the regimental life my parents mapped out for me. I have come this far and I refuse to go back now. Roles are not guaranteed, but if I can make a success of my own creation, it will change everything.”
Victor stared long and hard before he glanced back at the papers he held. “You’ve cast yourself in the leading role. What about everyone else? Forget the producers, Adam. There aren’t many actors who will take a risk on a new play by a new writer. It could be months before you fill these roles. Not to mention stagehands, lighting, and scenery.” He tossed the sheet aside again. “God’s graces, man. You know the scale involved to put on a play as ambitious and complex as this.”
“I appreciate that, but I also think the public is ready for a story such as this, don’t you?”
Adam’s heart beat hard as he detected indecision cranking and turning in the director’s head as he considered.
Seconds ticked by and then Victor gave a curt nod. “I say forget the writing until you can afford to invest in it. Who knows? A year, two years from now, perhaps you can afford to run the show yourself. Nothing better than a man being in charge of his own work.”
“Of course not, but—”
Victor raised his hand. “Come. Gather your manuscript together and put it away for another day. We have less than twenty minutes before you’re due back onstage. I can’t do anything to help you. I’m sorry.”
Adam squeezed his eyes shut and fought to curb his temper. “Well, I would have always wondered if I had not asked. At least I gave you first refusal and the guilt you are out of pocket won’t eat me up when my play is alive at the West End.”
Victor grinned. “I like your positivity. Now, come, we must make haste.”
“You go.” Adam opened his eyes and forced a smile. “I’ll be right behind you.”
As soon as Victor disappeared into the corridor, Adam whirled around and pushed his hands into his hair. “Damn it to hell.”
He marched across the room and whipped the disarranged sheets from the desk. He hurriedly gathered them back into a pile as best he could, already dreading the torture of putting them back in order for another long languish in obscurity. Roughly tying the string, he shoved the pile under his arm and strode from the room into the humdrum of the busy corridor.
The stage manager immediately clapped him on the shoulder. “There you are. Are you almost ready? Monica’s scene starts in five. You’re on next.”
Adam waved in acknowledgment and continued along the corridor toward his dressing room. He marched inside and came to an abrupt halt.
God damn it. This is all I need.
The ladies had their backs to him, fiddling with a new flower arrangement on his dresser. His fragile temper could do without the provocation of another woman pushing her breasts in his face, clamoring for a damn autograph . . . or more.
Charm. He needed to maintain his charm, his public reputation at all times. He couldn’t let anyone see the real him. That Adam Lacey would soon stick a pin through their fantasy of a rising star with the world at his feet.
He pulled on a wide smile. “Sorry, ladies, I have no time to visit—”
They turned in unison, but Adam focused on only one. “You.”
The breath left his lungs and his smile faltered. Lucinda. Here. In his dressing room. Standing barely three feet in front of him.
“Mr. Lacey.” Her cheeks darkened and she dipped a semicurtsy. The smooth skin at her neck moved as she swallowed. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
Adam found his feet and stepped closer. She was short—or at least compared to his five feet eleven inches. Petite. Perfect. Her eyes were huge and the color of lavender.
He laughed. “I cannot believe you are standing in my dressing room.”
Her soft smile vanished and the color at her cheeks deepened as she turned to her companion. “I’m sorry. We brought you some flowers from a lady in the audience, sir. We didn’t mean . . .”
Her companion looped her arm through that of the vision in front of him. “It’s all right, Laura.” She tugged
Laura
forward. “We apologize, Mr. Lacey. We’ll be right out of your way.”
They disappeared out the door, and Adam dumped his manuscript on the desk and hurried after them. Laura . . . Laura. His mind raced. She could not leave. He had to go after her. They had barely stepped into the corridor and he clasped Lucinda . . . Laura, at the elbow.
“Please. Would you join me for a drink after the show? Perhaps you’d like to accompany me to the get-together at the Rooms?”
Her eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Sir?”
He was scaring her. He was acting like an imbecile. A damn predator. He snatched his hand from her arm and raised them both in a gesture of apology. “I am sorry. I mean, would you . . .” He glanced from Laura to her companion. “Both of you, like to come with me? As my guests?”
Her friend squealed. “Yes, yes, we would. Oh, my. I can’t believe—”
“No.”
Adam looked to Laura. “No?”
She tilted her chin and brought herself up to her full height. Suddenly she seemed taller than she had in his dressing room. She shook her head. “No.”
Her friend huffed out a laugh. “Laura, I don’t think you understand what Mr. Lacey’s asking—”
“Thank you, Tess, but I understand perfectly.” Her gaze remained locked with his and Adam tried and failed to lessen the panic he knew would be evident in his eyes. She stepped back and did the damn curtsy thing again. “I thank you, Mr. Lacey, but I came here to work, not to take drinks at the Assembly Rooms. It was nice to meet you.”
She spun around and marched away. Tess, her friend, glanced from Adam to Laura’s retreating and perfect form and back again. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lacey. She’s new. She doesn’t understand—”
Adam grinned and shook his head. “It is fine. It is more than fine.”
The girl smiled and moved to leave when Adam touched her arm. “Tess?”
“Yes?”
“If you can tell me where she lives, I would be forever indebted to you.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” She tilted her chin, clearly mustering for as much pride as Laura had shown. “But I’m not making any promises.”
Adam dipped his head. “I understand.”
She took off along the corridor and Adam collapsed back against the wall behind him. His hand clutched the place his heart had been a few minutes before.
Laura.
Laura’s legs shook as she hurried into one of the theater’s many back rooms. She grabbed her basket. What had she been thinking, giggling and laughing along with Tess in Adam Lacey’s dressing room? She swallowed as her hands trembled. She hadn’t been thinking. She’d carried on like a naïve young girl in awe of a damn star. Well, it hadn’t been stars in Adam Lacey’s eyes—it had been lust. Pure and simple.
Disappointment lingered at the periphery of her heart and she pushed it firmly away. He was a man, wasn’t he? What the hell else did she expect? Did she think he’d fall at her feet? Romance her? Laugh and ask her questions about her life? She was a whore. Men spotted whores as soon as they looked at one.
Tess hurtled through the door and Laura wiped away the tears that smarted her eyes.
“There you are.” Tess pressed her hand to her heaving chest. “Why did you take off like that? The man’s besotted.”
Laura glared and hefted her basket onto her arm. “Besotted? The man is nothing more than a leech. A sexual deviant.”
Tess’s eyes widened and she laughed. “A sexual deviant? Mr. Lacey?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t be absurd. The man is a professional. He’d no more lust after the likes of us than he would piss in the street. The man keeps company with lords and ladies in most cases.” She planted her hands on her hips, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Which is why I won’t believe for one minute you aren’t the least bit curious why the sight of you set him to gushing the way he did.”
Laura feigned interest in the contents of her basket. A spark of pride simmered deep in her belly. “Gushing? He wasn’t gushing. He was toying with me . . . us.” She met Tess’s gaze. “Don’t be fooled by him or any other man. You know what we are.”
Tess’s smile vanished. “Excuse me?”
The heat in her glare bore into Laura’s conscience like a claw hammer. Just because she’d grown as jaded and cynical as a washed-up brothel madam, didn’t mean Tess was. She slumped her shoulders and squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry. Ignore me.”
The silent seconds beat heavy in her ears. Her first day in a new life and she’d set upon the first person who greased the wheels of opportunity.
“Laura, look at me.” Tess’s voice was firm and clear.
Laura opened her eyes.
Tess tightened her jaw and crossed her arms. “First of all, I know exactly who I am. I’m a young woman making her way in the world. Always have been, always will be. Yes, I might’ve sold my body for a time to stay warm and fed, but right now those days feel a long way past. Now, you have to decide how you’re going to start thinking about yourself.”
“Tess, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I haven’t finished. You need to start thinking about how to talk about yourself, because the way Adam Lacey just admired you had nothing . . .
nothing
to do with putting his cock inside you.”
Laura flinched at the bluntness of Tess’s words. “I never said he thought that.”
“You didn’t have to. It was written all over your face how little you thought of him. You didn’t give him a chance to impress you.”
The fight left her and Laura collapsed into a chair, heaving her laden basket onto her lap. “I didn’t mean to run away like that. I didn’t want to get angry or mean.”