Staring across the room, Carter studied her profile.
Nor would he focus on her grace, which reminded him of a ballerina, or her mouth, which brought to mind a rosebud about to blossom.
He leaned back, watching her curiously as she scribbled in the margins of her script, and wondered what she was thinking.
“Tell me who you envision playing the leading roles,” he said, knowing most playwrights had favorite actors and actresses in mind while writing.
He did not ask because he wanted her attention.
She glanced up. “I don’t know anything about casting.”
“You know your play. You must have someone in mind.” This was another reason he kept her around, after all.
Otherwise, he easily could have hired Mrs. Sourface, the elderly woman Mrs. Grey had brought in to take over some of the financial administration duties.
Carter waited—only partly distracted when Miss Sparrow bit her lip in a thoughtful manner. Such an impertinent mouth—pink, plump lips he’d found himself dreaming about the night before.
“I like Sarah Beckwith,” Miss Sparrow announced. “To play Lady Drusilla.”
Carter rubbed his chin. He had worked with Miss Beckwith on several past productions and found that her talent just barely made up for her moodiness.
Especially after he’d ended their affair that had only lasted halfway through the play’s run.
“Miss Beckwith is a prima donna.”
“Does that matter?” Miss Sparrow met and held his gaze. “She has the perfect looks and she seemed incredibly genuine when I watched her in other plays.
Carter remained silent. His reluctance wasn’t because Sarah Beckwith wouldn’t make an excellent Lady Drusilla. It was because of how he’d ended their affair. Blast and damn, he should have listened to Mrs. Grey earlier.
“You did ask for my opinion,” Miss Sparrow reminded him.
“True.” He grunted. “What do you think of Merle Madison as the Earl of Pudding?”
This time she was the one who frowned. “He’s so… old. I was thinking Thomas Cotton.”
“Not a horrible idea.” Carter nodded. He could easily picture Cotton in the role. “Post an announcement this afternoon. We’ll hold auditions beginning Monday.”
She made a note and then, biting an already swollen lower lip, glanced over at him. “Will you read through this section for me?”
She was out of her seat and around the desk before Carter could stop her, her copy of the marked-up manuscript landing on his desk with a slap. “I rewrote the lines we discussed and went on ahead. I want to ensure it agrees with your vision.” Standing behind him, she leaned forward and pointed, her perfume teasing his nostrils and a few errant curls caressing his jaw. All he had to do was turn his head a few inches…
Carter cleared his throat, forcing his attention to the script.
“The argument right before the first kiss,” he confirmed. It was, indeed, a pivotal scene.
“He’s teasing her, but I have her teasing him back. What are your thoughts?” Reading through earlier, they had decided Lord Pudding needed to rein in some of his lecherous behavior—arrogant prick notwithstanding. The Earl would not force his kiss on Lady Drusilla, nor would he treat any of his servants with disrespect.
Carter skimmed her notes. “Better.” But something was still off.
He stared at the manuscript, picturing the scene…
Lady Drusilla inadvertently enters the earl’s chamber to build a fire in his hearth, not realizing the earl is seated in the corner—barefoot, wearing nothing more than his silk banyan.
So far, as a maid, their heroine has struggled when it came to building fires.
“Leave it.” Carter read Pudding’s line aloud and then added, “Pudding watches her closely.” He made a note. “Specifically, her bottom, since she’s on her knees and cannot help but wiggle it.”
Miss Sparrow, who was apparently incapable of reading lines without going through the blocking, moved across the room and then dropped onto her knees. After a few tantalizing shakes of the sweetest bum, she turned to look over her shoulder.
