Again, there was a sharp bark of laughter, but he reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head. She pretended to study the pattern in the floor as he crossed to the sitting area where his boots were. She’d gawked at him enough for one day.
She could imagine him gathering his socks and slipping them over his well-made feet. He confirmed her fevered imaginings by stomping his foot on the ground as he settled it in his boot.
Sarah allowed herself to peek as he yanked on the other and followed the whole ritual.
Seeing he had her attention, he said, “I usually have a valet for this.”
“It is good of you to know how to dress yourself.”
He laughed again, this time as if he had expected her tart rejoinder. He crossed to her and offered his hand. “Arise, fair maid.”
Sarah wasn’t certain what to make of the gallantry, but she released the hold of one arm on her play to accept his hand.
“Let me take your cloak,” he said, coming around behind her.
“I’m fine,” she said. He stood close and she found that it was difficult to wipe the image of his body beneath the shirt from her mind.
“If you keep dripping on Menheim’s floors, the housekeeper will have a fit.”
He was right. Sarah was soaked through.
She reached up and untied the string of her cloak. She was surprisingly nervous. The anger that had propelled her to storm past his servants had dissipated at discovering him so . . . human.
Sarah felt the weight of his hands as he removed her cloak. He did not linger at the task, for which she was grateful. He was not the lecherous sort.
He shook out her cloak and draped it over a wooden-backed chair. She hugged her manuscript for courage and faced him. “I need your help, Your Grace. I’ve been robbed and I must use all the resources available to you to capture the culprits.”
“The resources available to me? Well, of course,” he answered, opening his hands as if to show he had no tricks. “And you were robbed? I’m not surprised. The neighborhood where you live invites robbery.”
“This isn’t about my neighborhood.” She moved to him, hating the sound of her wet soles on the floor. “Geoff and Charles, the ones who staged the Naughty Review, they have run away with the money from last night. They haven’t paid any of the actors or any of their debtors and they are cheating me.”
“Please, have a seat, Mrs. Pettijohn.”
She didn’t want to sit. She wanted to convince him to help her; however, niceties had to be observed. She plopped herself down on the closest chair in the sitting arrangement where he had placed her cloak.
The duke took the chair adjacent to hers. “How are they cheating you?” He was at ease in his element.
“They promised to stage my play. That was how they were going to pay me. Otherwise, I would never have played the part. Even years ago, I hadn’t wanted to play the part.”
That information seemed to surprise him. “Why did you do it then?”
Sarah hated explaining herself to anyone, but if the duke could help her, she owed him the truth. “The first time I played the Siren was to earn the money to support Char. You are familiar with her uncle Davies?”
He shrugged. “Barely.”
“He is not the sort one leaves alone with a young girl. The man is vile. I would have done anything to rescue her from him, including dancing ‘practically’ naked. Of course, who knew the Siren would be such a success? We made so much money that night that Geoff and Charles could afford to establish their own theater. Unfortunately, they are not good money managers. They were in danger of losing Bishop’s Hill. They told me they were going to put on another Naughty Review and asked me to play the Siren again. At first, I said no.”
“Even though you obviously needed money?”
“I know you will not believe this, but even actresses have standards.”
He held up a hand as if to ward off her temper. “I did not mean insult.”
“It was implied.”
“No, it wasn’t. It is acknowledging a truth, Mrs. Pettijohn. Your circumstances have lowered. You lost the house on Mulberry Street and anyone with eyes could see that you are living hand to mouth. Especially in that neighborhood.”
“The neighborhood is not that desperate.”
