“You were meaningless,” she murmured to herself. “No matter what name you went by. You weremeaninglessand he is finished with you, despite how many bouquets he sends.”
She let out a sigh and briefly covered her eyes with her fingers. When she gathered herself and lowered them, she gasped. In the reflection she saw Sir Archibald standing behind her. Somehow he had slipped into her room without making a sound, and now he had shut himself in.
She jumped up and faced him. The man was round and red and had a cruel bent to his expression. And he was obsessed with the theatre. Well, perhaps not the theatre itself. She doubted he could tell Shakespeare from a supper menu, but he was obsessed with actresses. How many of her friends had told teary-eyed tales of his groping hands and hard, unyielding mouth?
Currently he was obsessed with Melinda, Adelaide’s understudy, as had been proven by Melinda’s hiding from his grasping hands and mouth days ago. But his desire for the other woman didn’t stop Sir Archibald from lookingherup and down with leering eyes.
“Lydia,” he drawled. “I was searching for Matilda, but you look lovely.”
“Melinda,” Adelaide corrected softly, thinking of her friend’s terror as she cowered in the dressing room just a week before. She was glad Sir Archibald hadn’t found Melinda first.
“Same difference,” he said with an ugly sneer. “You’re all the same to me.”
“She isn’t here,” Adelaide said. “And I’m surprised to findyouhere. I thought you had been asked not to come back during or after performances anymore.”
Toby had been the one to do that. And how he had managed to do it civilly when he’d been so enraged at Sir Archibald’s treatment of Melinda was beyond her.
“That pup doesn’t run me, Lydia,” Sir Archibald said, taking a step toward her. “I know the man who owns this theatre, you know. I’ll have that manager on the street in a heartbeat if I see fit.”
Adelaide swallowed hard. Men like Sir Archibald could threaten those with so much to lose. She was different, of course. She had a life to go back to that had nothing to do with performing. Such as it was.
“You are not welcome here byanyof us,” she said, forcing her tone to be hard and firm even when she felt as terrified as a deer being run down by a wolf. “And I would think that the theatre would be more interested in the money it brings in with actresses like me than with one nasty man’s opinion.”
Sir Archibald’s face hardened in an instant. “You whore, don’t you act for a second like you’re more important than I am.”
He swung on her, the back of his hand cracking across her cheek and staggering her back against the chair she had vacated upon his intrusion. She was made so off balance by the attack that she had no recourse when Sir Archibald threw himself up against her and backed her against the table.
Her mind began to spin as she shoved against him, clawing his fat belly and kicking at him as his thick fingers clenched her dress. She heard the fabric beginning to rend as he dropped his mouth to hers and slobbered a disgusting kiss against her tightly pressed lips.
“No!” she cried out, but her voice was muffled as he continued to cover her mouth with his own. “No!” she repeated.
But he was an immoveable object, nearly twice her weight, and she recognized in that horrible moment that it was very likely he would do whatever he wanted, however he wanted, long before anyone would come to her aid.
Graham came up the long hallway toward Lydia’s dressing room with a spring in his step. He couldn’t wait to see her, even if his thoughts about her were still tangled. He’d stayed away for days, trying to see if his attraction to either woman would fade if he avoided them a while.
It had not. So he’d chosen to come here first, to see Lydia and try to connect with her in some way that was deeper than the physical. Try to see into her secrets.
As he neared her door, he heard a soft sound from behind it. A muffled cry of pain, and he caught his breath before he barged forward and crashed through into the dressing room.
What he saw there froze his blood. Sir Archibald, a man who was far too well-known to him, loomed over Lydia, wiping his mouth over her as she struggled to keep him at bay. The shoulder of her gown was torn and the fabric gaped forward as the brute cupped one breast and squeezed.
A red veil of rage settled over Graham’s vision. Unstoppable, uncontrollable and driven by more than a mere desire to help Lydia, Graham careened forward and caught Sir Archibald by the lapels to fling him off of Lydia. His mind went blank of reason. Replaced by thoughts of another woman being hurt, another set of angry hands, another life he tried desperately to forget as often as possible.
He rained down fists on Sir Archibald’s fat face, crushing him over and over without speaking, without hesitating, without thinking. He only wanted to destroy.
“Graham!” He heard Lydia’s voice behind him, loud and filled with pleading. He ignored it.
“Graham!” she said again, but this time it was Adelaide’s voice that spoke to him.
He felt her hands close around his arm and pull with all her weight. The touch cleared his mind and his vision, and he stopped, fist cocked back and looked down at Sir Archibald.
The man was covered in blood and his nose was broken. Perhaps his jaw too, given how swollen his cheek was. He sputtered, his hands lifted to protect himself, his eyes wide with fear even though they were starting to swell shut.
“Graham.”
He turned and it was Lydia who held him. Not Adelaide. He’d just been confused. She stared at him in horror and empathy, but didn’t release his arm.
“Stop,” she said softly. “Stop now.”
