She moved alongside him, but didn’t reach for his hand. His fingers felt empty without hers twined through. He could only hope she felt the same.
“But that’s what makes it so exhilarating,” she continued, her cheeks bright with passion.
The way her fervor shone through when she spoke of performance…
It gave him hope.
Lady Delilah Windermere couldn’t live without her passions.
Now he could only hope he was one of them.
And he knew.
He more than liked this woman.
There was a reason he wanted to make her his—and it had naught to do with what they’d just done on the stage.
It had to do with another feeling, one deeper and more powerful than mere desire.
But the time to tell her hadn’t yet arrived.
He had another few weeks.
He had time.
Chapter Twelve
Next evening
To say thesummer had gone well would be understatement.
To say it ranked amongst the happiest of Sebastian’s life would be hitting closer to the mark.
Even if he was presently shimmying on his belly across a beam that spanned the width of the stage fifteen feet below, toward the pulley that was causing all the trouble with the raising and lowering of backdrops. Soppitt ever gave him the least appealing tasks, and Sebastian never complained. He simply grunted his assent and set to. He’d been educated at Eton College and then Cambridge. He understood the many forms hazing took.
Although, a week ago, Soppitt had offered an explanation. “Here’s the thing, Seb.” He held up his calloused hand worn with decades of rough work and begin ticking off points with his fingers. “You’re new. You’re on the younger side. You’ve got muscles under them clothes. And your face is too pretty for your own good. The way I see it you need some adversity to make a proper man of you.”
Sebastian responded in his usual manner. He gave a nod and a grunt and set about his task, which that day had been to dig the bog for the new camp. He would wager he was the only duke in history to dig a bog.
So, here he was, body draped over a beam, replacing a pulley wheel with about five minutes until the start of the night’s performance. Task completed, he shimmied down and spotted Delilah on the other side of the stage. His first instinct was to go to her, his feet already on the move, and tell her she had this well in hand. But he stopped. She was concentrating, entering into the performance in her mind before she did for the audience.
He would leave her be—for now. He would have her all to himself, soon. The summer had taken on the glow of perfection—of them being with each other, laughing, touching, making love… She felt it, too. She must.
Only two people made for each other could experiencethis.
So, he left Delilah to her performance and made his way around the perimeter of the audience. Slouch hat pulled low, he found a three-hundred-year oak to prop a shoulder against and unobtrusively watch the panto.
From the moment she stepped on stage as Amelia in theLover’s Vowsscene, she held the audience’s rapt attention. On that stage, she contained and embodied multitudes of human experience.
Pride swelled within Sebastian. A particular sort of joy, too. She’d pursued and achieved this. And why shouldn’t she have? Why was it only gentlemen who could pursue their true interests and passions? No one had ever stood in the way of him and what—or who—he’d wanted. Let them try. Why shouldn’t Delilah have the same freedom?
Halfway through the scene, a voice rang out from the audience, clear as a bell, “Lady Delilah?”
Every muscle in Sebastian’s body went suddenly tense, and on the stage, Delilah froze, all the color draining from her face. Sebastian’s head whipped around, and he began scanning the audience. It was composed mostly of local families out for a night of entertainment. No one who should recognize Delilah.
“Lady Delilah Windermere, itisyou!”
Sebastian knew that condescending, unctuous voice before his gaze, at last, landed on its owner.Mr. Oliver Quincy.
