Page 69

She knew that his intentions were pure at heart, but it still didn’t justify what he had done, and neither did it solve any of their problems.

She was still an actress. He was still a viscount.

And as far as she knew, he was still betrothed.

She checked the papers diligently for any news on the wedding, but there was nothing. But there was nothing about the dissolution of the wedding either.

As much as Jo enjoyed the attention, as much as she grinned and giggled like a little girl with every gift she’d received, a piece of her also died every day. Because things weren’t actions. Words in poetry weren’t promises.

So as long as that was true, she wasn’t going to melt before him and forgive him for everything.

And then one day, it all stopped.

When Jo went into her dressing room expecting another gift, it wasn’t there.

Perhaps Richard had decided that it was a waste of time, which it was. Perhaps he saw the futility of his actions and realized this was not the way back to Jo’s heart.

Jo agreed.

But it still stung.

As a result, when Jo went to join the cast for a special meeting that Mr. Hart had invited them to, she was in a sour mood. And her mood only turned for the worse when she found out what the reason for the meeting was.

The theater manager proudly presented a new play they were going to perform that year. A new play written by their own Michael Kenworthy.

Except that the play wasn’t his. It was Jo’s.

It was the play Jo had written for Lady Vane’s house party.

When the crowd dispersed, Jo walked up to Mick, her fingers curling into fists. “May I speak with you?”

Mick turned to her slowly, studied her up and down, and then smiled. “Of course, my darling.”

“Come with me.” Jo led him to her dressing room, away from the curious onlookers. She didn’t want to make a scene. Not in front of her fellow actors and especially not in front of the theater manager who already thought so little of her.

The moment they stepped into the room, Mick moved closer, crowding her in the narrow room.

“What did you want, pet?” he asked as he propped his foot on a chair, bracketing her between him and her vanity.

She pushed at his leg. “First of all, do not muddy my chair.” She wasn’t able to move him more than an inch.

He kept his pose, jutting out his crotch toward her. Then he placed his elbow on his knee and propped his chin. “And second of all?” he asked mockingly.

“Only after you comply with my first request.” Jo tried to be assertive, but her voice shook a little while her gaze darted toward the closed door.

“Then we’ll stand here forever. Not that I mind.”

Jo gritted her teeth. “You know what I called you here to talk about. You stole my play.”

He shrugged. “Did I? It seems to me that it is mine.”

“Everybody knows it’s not true.”

“Do they?” He looked around mockingly. “Because as far as I remember, everybody in the house party knows that the play is mine.”

“Right. And does Mr. Hart know that the play is not new? That we performed it already?”

“With a limited cast and a poor script, yes. But we’ll be expanding it and making it grander.”