The look in his arrogant golden eyes said he knew it.
And why.
“Lilah,” came her name as if from a great distance.
She whipped around to find the company director Mr. Morgan three feet away, not thirty.
Ravensworth had her completely turned around and utterly muddled.
“Lilah,” repeated Mr. Morgan in his Welsh lilt, handing her a sheet of paper. “Will you run these lines?”
Her gaze skated across the page. It was a scene fromLover’s Vows.“I know the play well.”
Her usual self began to return to her, even though she could feel the heat of Ravensworth’s stare. That was nothing new. Every night, the first thing she did before a performance was locate him in the audience, so her gaze would never once happen that direction.
She took her place in the center of the stage and exhaled a long, steadying breath, inviting the docile, lovestruck spirit of Amelia, the heroine ofLover’s Vows, to fill her. “Where would you like me to start, Mr. Morgan?”
“At the top.”
Delilah glanced down and realized this was Act III. The scene between Amelia and Anhalt where they discuss matrimony and proclaim their love for one another. Her stomach churned. “Perhaps a different scene would be better.” An idea came to her—a brilliant idea. “I don’t have to play Amelia. I could play the Count.” Then she wouldn’t have any love scenes.Perfect.
Mr. Morgan flicked a dismissive wrist. “The audience would want you as Amelia.”
Right.
Subtly, from beneath her eyelashes, she chanced a quick glance toward Ravensworth. Arrogant smile curled about his mouth, he was watching the proceedings with that intense, undivided attention of his.
She squeezed her eyes shut. This was an opportunity. Mr. Morgan was offering her the lead role in a scene—her first. She mustn’t muck it up. She opened her eyes and spoke the line at the top. “I will not marry.”
Mr. Morgan held up a hand and shook his head. “You need a scene partner.” He cast his gaze about. No one happened to be around, other than—
His gaze landed.
Ravensworth.
Her heart became a hammer against her ribs.
No, no, no.
Mr. Morgan crooked his index finger. “My good man Seb, would you be so kind as to—”
“No!” burst from Delilah.
Both sets of eyes swung toward her, but Ravensworth was already pushing to his feet, unfolding all six feet and several inches of himself, that arrogant smile not having slipped a whit. He looked to be enjoying himself.
Of a sudden, Delilah saw Ravensworth, not as she’d seen him when she’d first met him as a friend of her brother’s, but as if she were only seeing him now for the first time. The sheer physicality of the man. What she was seeing was what all the other ladies must’ve been seeing all these years. She felt slightly lost for breath.
Was this the effect he had on women? How had she been so oblivious to it?
She needed to get a firm grasp on herself.
The blasted man’s effect on the opposite sex—or the fact that she might very well be included in that number—mattered not.
It didn’t change what happened at Eton three years ago.
There, that was the ship righted.
Mr. Morgan ignored Delilah and pointed toward the stage boards. “Now, you’ll stand here.” That would have Ravensworth standing not three feet from her. She took a shuffling step backward. Mr. Morgan held up a halting palm. “Nay, you stay where you are, Lilah. These are lovers. They need to be close.”
