All of which oughtn’t to matter. He was her employer, for goodness’ sake!
And oh, but she was already coming to love the theater! Although they’d not yet begun the work of going over her actual play yet, each morning she woke up feeling energized. The more she learned, the more she felt at home.
Especially with Mr. Dodd, who at times loomed in her mind as an arrogant neanderthal, and other times, a tragic genius.
The man’s artistic energy permeated every aspect of the Drury Lane Theater. One could argue, in fact, that without him, Drury Lane would cease to exist.
So on the third morning of her second week, when she arrived to see him sitting at his desk with her manuscript in front of him, her heart leapt. Finally!
“You’re late.” Mr. Dodd spoke without looking up from his reading. He’d already removed his jacket and rolled white linen sleeves up to his elbows. Momentarily mesmerized by the sight, Elle stared at the backs of his hands for at least three seconds too long.
Yes, he was a dashing gentleman, but that ought not to affect her like this.
“I’m right on time.” Her voice came out breathier than usual.
Turning to her smaller desk, Elle removed her gloves and tucked her reticule into the lowest drawer. She had so many questions!
What do you like about the play? What kind of changes do you want? Are you truly going to direct it or is this all some great joke?
“When will you be ready to announce auditions?” She had been asked this question more than any other. By performers, musicians, artists, and everyone in between.
“Next week,” he said. His eyes narrowed as he kept reading.
“Oh.”
He lowered the manuscript and pinned his stare on her and, ill-prepared to be the object of his full attention, her stomach did a few flips.
“I have a problem with this second scene in Act One—a few troubling issues concerning their interaction,” he said.
They were going to talk about it!
A thrill shot down her spine immediately followed by a blast of terror. Because he had mentioned troubling issues. Problems. And it was difficult not to feel defensive regarding her characters.
“Troubling issues?” She hated that her voice made an odd squeaking sound.
“Do you attend the theater often, Miss Sparrow?” He looked up at her and she shivered. Not at the question, or even from the way he stared at her.
But because his voice—smooth and gravelly—vibrated her insides. She’d allowed a schoolgirl infatuation to develop, and she needed to nip it in the bud.
Before she did something stupid.
“Whenever I can,” she answered.
“As well you should. Bring your chair over here.” Mr. Dodd shifted sideways. “Something is not quite right in the midnight scene.”
“The one in the library?” Elle stiffened. “What’s wrong with it?”
“The tension feels off. Let’s run through with you reading Lady Drusilla’s lines.”
“I’m not an actress—”
“So you say. But you wrote these lines.” He shot her a challenging glance. “There are a thousand ways to pitch the scene, but I want your original take. Now, come here. If you haven’t anything better to do right now, I’ll read for the Earl of Pudding.”
She supposed that made sense.
“Of course.” She dragged her chair around to his desk and then sat down beside him. This was really happening. This was her story! Her play!
Her hands shook slightly, despite her best efforts otherwise.
