Three Weeks with a Princess Page 7

  Her disdainful tone and her rejection of their relationship set off a little explosion in Jack’s head. He marched around the desk and planted himself in front of her, his legs spread and his hands propped on his hips. It forced Lia to tilt her head back to meet his gaze, glare for glare.

  “As much as it pains me to speak so bluntly . . .” he started.

  “Ha! I doubt that.”

  “The circumstances demand that I must do so,” he said, ignoring her jibe. “You are no more an actress than a courtesan. You are no more a Notorious Kincaid than I am. What you are is an innocent and nice young lady who was raised in the country. And that is exactly where you will remain until I figure out how to deal with this situation.”

  Her eyes blazed with icy blue fire. “I beg to differ, my lord. If I put my mind to it, I’m quite sure I can be just as notorious as the other women in my family.”

  Then she reached up and clamped his face between her palms. She went up on her toes and planted her mouth on his, kissing him with a fury that almost knocked him off his feet.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d kissed him, but those had been chaste pecks on the cheek. This clumsy kiss took him like a storm, blasting amazement through his veins. Instinctively, his arms started to wrap around her to pull her close.

  But she shoved him away, leaving him slack-jawed and gasping for breath. The color was high on her cheekbones and her lush, pink mouth was dewy. Like him, she was panting, but from the look on her face he suspected it had more to do with rage than passion.

  “Let that be a lesson to you, Jack Easton. You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

  Then she turned on her heel and marched to the French doors. Spinning around, she once more jabbed a minatory finger in his direction. “And don’t ever try to tell me what I can and cannot do.”

  With that daunting remark, she disappeared into the bright morning sunlight, leaving Jack with the unnerving sensation that he’d just lost control of everything.

  Chapter Four

  “I’m truly sorry, dearest,” Lia’s mother said as she lounged gracefully on a yellow velvet chaise in her drawing room. She looked as beautiful and stylish as always, completely at home in the elegantly decorated town house her husband had recently rented on a quiet street in Kensington.

  Lia sighed and briefly pressed her palms to her tired eyes. If one more person said she lacked acting talent, she might just scream. “But Mama, you’ve seen me act only once and I was just twelve years old at the time.”

  She remembered the occasion with ringing clarity, because she and Granny had staged the performance in honor of one of Mama’s rare visits to Yorkshire. With help from the servants, they’d put on a very abbreviated version of Richard III, with Lia playing most of the roles.

  Her mother gave a slight shudder. “It was not an occasion one would forget. Although I do give you full marks for such a bold venture.”

  “I’m sure it was much better than you remember, my love,” said Stephen Lester, casting a worried look Lia’s way. “After all, one’s memory does grow dim over the years.”

  “There is nothing wrong with my memory,” Mama huffed. “I’ve memorized dozens of roles over the years and not forgotten a single line.”

  Mama did have a spectacular memory and she was a very good actress, so her unflinching assessment was likely correct. Still, Lia wasn’t yet ready to give up the fight.

  Along with Sarah Rogers, who’d served as her chaperone, Lia had arrived in London late last night. The days-long trip from Yorkshire had been rather gruesome, as they were crammed into an overcrowded, hot, and rather smelly public coach. She’d spent much of the trip trying to control a queasy stomach and struggling not to second-guess her decision.

  Despite the inconvenience, the trip had provided an entertaining and often unvarnished display of humanity. When one cheeky fellow tried to corner Lia on the landing of a narrow staircase, Sarah had dispatched the idiot with a few good whacks of her umbrella. And although that encounter had been distasteful, Lia told herself it was useful fodder for a budding actress. The more she knew about her fellow man, the more skillful her performance on the stage was likely to be.

  “I truly wish you’d written to me earlier, Lia,” Mama said in a plaintive voice. “We’d only just received your grandmother’s letter and there you were on our doorstep.”

  Lia tried for a doleful expression. “I’m so sorry, but there really wasn’t any time. Matters have reached a crisis point.”

  It had been Granny’s idea to avoid giving the Lesters too much notice. Lia had been quite sure her mother would welcome her with open arms, but it turned out Rebecca Kincaid knew her daughter better than Lia knew her mother. It now seemed clear that Mama would have refused to allow Lia to stay with her if she’d only had the opportunity to do so.

  The most charitable interpretation was that the former Marianne Kincaid had spent years trying to put her reputation behind her, refashioning herself as the respectable—if rather dashing—wife of a well-regarded theater manager and playwright. The accomplished Mrs. Lester likely had no wish to be reminded of the old scandals she’d done her best to overcome. In that sense, her daughter’s sudden appearance in London was bound to be an unsettling reminder.

  But what choice did Lia have but to ask for her mother’s help? Leaving her entire future in Jack’s hands was no option, as their ridiculous last meeting had made clear. She cringed every time her memory dredged up the appalled expression on his face when she’d revealed Granny’s scheme. It had been the most humiliating moment of her life.

  Even worse, she was now an object of pity to Jack and a source of embarrassment. And if she made him that uncomfortable, he would be much less inclined to fight for her and Granny when he did finally marry and his future wife set about evicting them from Bluebell Cottage.

  “Oh dear, I simply don’t know what to do,” Mama said, fluttering a handkerchief at her husband. Mr. Lester, sitting next to her on the chaise, patted her knee.

  Personally, Lia thought her mother’s melodramatic pose was a bit much, but she had to admit she did it well. Mama was lovely, with big, expressive eyes, an enchanting manner, and a figure as slim and elegant as in her youth. Even her black hair remained untouched by gray markers of time, although Lia suspected a bit of artful assistance in that regard.

  That no one would ever deduce that Marianne Lester had a twenty-two-year-old daughter was probably another reason she didn’t want Lia hanging about. It was hard to maintain the fiction of youth when one had a child full-grown.

  “Tut-tut, my dear,” Mr. Lester said in a bracing tone. “We’ll think of something. And if nothing else, it’s quite lovely to have dear Lia for a visit. Why, the girl hasn’t been in London since she was a toddler. Think of all the fun we’ll have taking her out and about, visiting all the sights.”

  Lia gave him a grateful smile. She was very fond of her stepfather, a middle-aged, ordinary-looking fellow with a receding hairline. He seemed more like a shopkeeper than a proficient playwright and a successful theater manager. Mr. Lester had spent years toiling in the provinces, building up his name and company and carefully accumulating funds and backers. Recently, he’d been able to lease a theater in London—in Holborn—and move his wife into a charming town house nearby.

  On top of all those estimable qualities, he adored Marianne and clearly never held her past against her, including her bastard daughter. He’d always treated Lia with affection and respect, remembering her at Christmas and on her birthday, sending her packages of books and exceedingly kind letters full of news of the company and her mother’s successes.

  “If you say so,” Mama said. Then she frowned at Lia. “But I’m not sure I understand your sense of urgency, dearest. Is Jack not paying your bills? Is he allowing that awful mother of his to kick up a fuss?”

  Lia shook her head. “He’s been very kind and generous. But his uncle left him in a ghastly financial bind. He simply can’t go on supporti
ng us like this for much longer.”

  “But Lord Lendale did it for years. Is it truly so dire now?”

  “Yes. And Lendale left us without a farthing to call our own,” Lia said. “I know he loved Granny, but he ended up leaving her high and dry.”

  Her mother winced. “That is most distressing. I wouldn’t have thought he could be so careless.”

  “That’s one way to put it,” Mr. Lester said gloomily. “I must agree with Lia’s assessment of the situation. Neither she nor your mother can rely on the new Lord Lendale.”

  “Thank you,” Lia said, perhaps too emphatically.

  “How dreary,” her mother said with a sigh. “But what does Jack think about this plan of yours? For such a kind man, he is rather a high stickler when it comes to female behavior—much like his mother in that regard, I’m afraid. He most certainly didn’t get it from his father,” she added with a knowing wink.

  Jack’s father, Lord John Easton, had been almost as notorious as the Kincaid women because of his numerous, brazen affairs. Lia could only hope her mother’s analysis of Lord John was not based on personal experience. That simply didn’t bear thinking about.

  “No point in digging up old stories about departed friends,” Mr. Lester hastily interjected. “But I must confess I’m curious about the current Lord Lendale’s reaction. Did he approve of your trip to London?”

  “He was fine with it,” Lia said with an airy wave. “After all, my absence leaves him with one less problem to deal with.”

  “I wish he’d dealt with it enough to hire you a chaise or lend you a carriage,” he said in a disapproving tone. “I can’t think what he was doing to allow you and Sarah to come by mail coach.”

  Lia shrugged. “I suppose it just didn’t occur to him. Besides, it’s not really any of his business, is it? Jack is a friend, nothing more.”

  Her mother and stepfather exchanged a dubious glance. Lia prayed they would let that particular detail drop; Jack would be furious if he learned she’d traveled to London on the mail coach.

  Which was precisely why she hadn’t told him.

  She hadn’t even told him she was going, instead leaving that bit up to Granny. There was little doubt that the annoyingly overprotective Lord Lendale would have done his best to stop her, and she couldn’t afford that. Jack would get over her departure soon enough and realize this was best for both of them.

  “I do hope you’re not getting the sniffles,” her mother said, studying her with concern. “One can pick up such nasty infections on public conveyances.”

  Lia blinked hard against incipient tears. “It’s just a little dust in my eye. Now, let’s get back to the problem at hand.”

  Mama pouted. “Must we? Can’t we just pretend you’re in London for a little visit and leave it at that?”

  Lia struggled against a wave of disappointment. For so long, she’d dreamed of being reunited with her mother; it was bitter medicine to realize her parent didn’t feel the same way. Still, she’d known for years that Mama, while charming and good-natured, was quite selfish. There was no point in lamenting her character at this stage or letting it get in the way of necessary plans.

  “I’m afraid we cannot, Mama,” she said firmly. “Although if you find the discussion too taxing, perhaps I can just work things out with my stepfather.”

  “Please call me Stephen, my dear,” he said. “We don’t stand on ceremony in this household.”

  “And perhaps you can call me Marianne instead of Mama,” her mother added in a hopeful voice. “That doesn’t sound nearly as frumpish.”

  Lia tried not to roll her eyes. “No one could ever be so silly as to call you frumpy, Mama. I mean, Marianne.”

  When her mother beamed at her, Lia had to swallow a laugh. Flattery was clearly the right tack.

  “Well, let’s discuss what you might be able to do and what roles you might be able to play,” Stephen said. “Can you sing or dance?”

  “Um, no,” Lia said. “But is that necessary? Don’t you primarily focus on spoken drama and the classics?”

  “We do when we’re touring the provinces,” her mother said. “But only the licensed theaters are allowed to perform spoken drama in London. Your stepfather is very good at getting around the restrictions with his burlettas and musical interludes, but we still must abide by the law.”

  “Oh,” Lia said. “I’d forgotten about that. So, does everyone in the company sing and dance?”

  “Mostly,” replied Stephen. “We do have some speaking parts set to music, of course, and we have the pantomimes. There are always the occasional walk-ons, as well. We might be able to squeeze you into that sort of role.”

  “But darling, we already have a full slate of actresses,” Mama said. “They won’t be happy if we elevate Lia in their place.”

  “I’m sure we can find something for her to do without ruffling feathers,” Stephen said. “Besides, this is my company, and if I want to cast my stepdaughter in a part I shall certainly do so.”

  Lia almost fell off her chair in her eagerness. “I’ll do anything, and I promise I’ll study very hard. I have a wonderful memory and I can help out around the theater, too. I can take notes for you or work on the costumes. I’ve become very good with the needle.”

  Her mother perked up. “We are rather shorthanded backstage. We lost one of our seamstresses last week and dear Stephen hasn’t yet had a chance to replace her.”

  “Actually I’ve been trying to economize,” he said with a sigh. “London is proving more expensive than I anticipated.”

  “I’m happy to work for nothing, at least in the beginning,” Lia said. “Until I prove myself and get established.” Though she’d hoped to start making money as quickly as possible, she knew she had to win her mother’s approval first.

  “It’s not right to take advantage of you that way,” Stephen said with a frown.

  “Nonsense,” Mama said briskly. “After all, she’ll be staying with us, so we’ll be providing her room and board.”

  Stephen nodded. “True, and I could provide a weekly stipend to pay for all the little things a young lady needs from day to day.”

  Lia clasped her hands tightly, almost afraid to hope. “So you’ll let me stay?”

  Her mother cocked an eyebrow at her husband, who gave her a nod and a smile.

  “Very well, my dear,” her mother said. “We will give you a try and see how it goes.”

  Lia jumped up and rushed over, bending down to hug her mother with fervor. “Thank you. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

  “We’ll see,” her mother said, awkwardly patting Lia on the back before gently disengaging herself. “We can’t make any promises for the long-term.”

  Lia refused to be discouraged. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, and a start was all she needed. With a little luck, within the next few months her career on the stage should be firmly launched.

  Chapter Five

  Jack stalked into the foyer of Boodle’s, silently handing the footman his hat. He’d been in a foul mood for days because he had yet to run Lia to ground, even though he’d been in the city since Monday.

  The blasted girl had given him the slip. Sadly, he’d believed the doleful tale that she’d been laid up with a severe cold, unable to receive visitors. He’d even ordered pots of beef broth, bowls of fruit, and baskets of the best pastries and treats from his kitchens to tempt the invalid’s supposedly delicate appetite. By the time Rebecca told him the truth—Lia had left for London on the mail coach three days before—it had been too late for him to have any hope of catching her.

  Jack’s first panicked thought had been that she’d gone haring off on her own, and it had almost given him a heart attack on the spot. But Sarah Rogers—apparently the only member of the household with a whit of common sense—had insisted on accompanying the girl to London, and he had every confidence that the redoubtable housekeeper would hold even the most impertinent fellow at bay.

  It had been some days be
fore he could follow her because he’d been forced to deal with pressing business in Yorkshire, including a number of increasingly hostile creditors. Fortunately, his estate manager had created enough breathing room to keep things in order until Jack returned to Stonefell—hopefully with a new line of credit from his bankers. There was also his mother to deal with, along with a London set of creditors—also increasingly hostile. According to his mother, they were all but banging on the front door of the mansion in Bedford Square.

  But his most pressing concern was Lia. He might not have much control over his life at the moment, but he knew one thing with absolute certainty: Lia would be going home to Bluebell Cottage within the next forty-eight hours if he had to lock her into his traveling coach and drive it north himself.

  He swallowed a sigh as he made his way to the reading room of the exclusive club. He’d already twice left his card at her stepfather’s surprisingly elegant town house, stating that he’d keep calling until she was at home. Their relationship had clearly undergone an unfortunate change. In the past, Lia had always anticipated his visits with great eagerness. Sometimes she’d raced up to the main house at Stonefell before his bags were even unpacked.

  Those days were obviously long gone. Their last meeting had been so catastrophic that he couldn’t blame her for wanting to avoid him; he’d obviously wounded her deeply.

  And then there was that earth-shattering moment when Lia’s fiery kiss had all but stunned him senseless. Ever since, Jack had been wrestling with a regrettably strong desire for her to engage in yet more shocking behavior with him. The idea of taking her as his mistress horrified him, but it also enticed him much more than he cared to admit.

  He spotted his quarry in a quiet corner and stalked over to join him. Charles Valentine Penley, Duke of Leverton, glanced up from his paper, his surprise registering in the elegant uptick of his eyebrows.