“Who?” the earl asked, inhaling deeply on his cigar. “Amelia?”
Lindley shook his head, polishing off the last of the strong coffee. He had a pleasant glow, no doubt about it. “Jane Barclay.”
For an instant the earl stiffened, eyes wide. Then he dropped his gaze, sipped his coffee—and his cup and saucer rattled when he set it down. Lindley frowned.
The earl said nothing. His face had become impassive, impossible to read. Still frowning, Lindley said, “She’s quite good, old boy. I saw her on the stage. The critics like her too. And beautiful! A stunner! Even Patricia never had what she had— it’s the innocence and the sensuality. I guess you did the right thing, letting her take to the stage. I’d say she’s quite the natural. Whether she’s as good as her mother, now, that I doubt.”
The earl looked at him, his eyes black, and Lindley thought that he was angry. Yet there was no reason for him to be, so Lindley guessed he was wrong. But there was tension now emanating from the dark figure sitting near him. “You sound as if you’re in love with her,” the earl said flatly.
Suddenly wanting to squirm, Lindley denied it vigorously. “Don’t be mad. I’ve a dozen mistresses, as you well know.”
The earl inhaled deeply. “Did she see you?”
Lindley hesitated. Now was the time to come clean, if he was going to tell all. He said, “We spoke after the performance.”
The earl said nothing, his gaze drifting to the windows, staring out at the tree-lined square. It had begun to rain, a thick drizzle.
“Is she still your ward?” Lindley asked bluntly.
“Technically,” he said.
Lindley felt it then, an intense disappointment. He would have to be friends with her, no matter how strong his romantic interest. At least until she came of age.
And there was still another question. “Are you going to go see her? She plays at the Criterion.”
Savagely the earl ground out his cigar. “No.” He lunged out of his chair. “I’m meeting Amelia at Harrod’s and taking her to dinner. Care to come?”
Politely Lindley declined. And he felt relieved with the earl’s answer.
27
Inside the auditorium, it was dark and quiet, the audience spellbound, and on the stage, bathed in light, Jane performed.
He stood very quietly, his spine rigid, his back to the doors leading to the lobby. He made no move to find a seat, and he made no move to leave. Indeed, even though it was the third and final act, he had only just arrived. He stared, un able to peel his gaze away from the actress, just like everyone else in the theater.
Beneath his breath, the Earl of Dragmore swore crudely.
God, he hated her!
After all this time, he had thought he would feel nothing. That he would be cold and indifferent. Yet it was not cool indifference flowing through his veins, but hot anger. He trembled with it.
Hearing about her yesterday, he had not been able to stay away.
She was beautiful—as Lindley had said. She was a contradiction, both angelic innocence and carnal sensuality. His lips sneered, and he wondered how many lovers she’d had since him. He told himself he did not care, and this time, he cursed aloud.
“Shhh,” fifty people hissed at once.
He ordered himself to leave, but he did not.
And when she was particularly funny, and everyone around him roared in mirth, he did not laugh. He did not even smile.
She had left him.
He had loved her—and she had left him.
As intense as his anger had been in that moment, his despair had been worse. Yet he had not let her go to London alone and fending for herself. He had sent a runner immediately to Gordon at the Lyceum, to ascertain that she had arrived safely and was cared for. That assured, he had given in to his fury and hatred, spending his days in dark, angry despair, seeking solace in a bottle, closed up alone in his library. After a few days he returned grimly to the living, to run Dragmore. The anger and hurt faded to manageable proportions, and by a month’s time, he felt nothing at all.
He met with Gordon once, to determine the extent of the responsibility he owed Jane. For she was still his ward. Gordon assured him Jane was no burden, that he loved her as he would a daughter, having loved her mother as a friend. Not satisfied, the earl made arrangements to support her financially. He did not see Jane, indeed, made damn sure they met at Tavistock Square to avoid this happening. And then he put her out of his mind.
