clueâ¦
He looked at the declaiming actor in womanâs clothes, and unable to bear the sight, he stared down at the ground. His elbows rested on his thighs, his hands hung between his legs and his hands were cupped. Cupped in the shape of a womanâs breast. Cupped in the shape ofâ¦he looked back at the stage.
Cupped in the shape of her breasts.
Her breasts. That was no man posturing and proclaiming.
That was a woman.
A woman.
Lady Honora whispered, âWhy are you holding your chest and sighing?â
Tony had fought in Her Majestyâs army, then commanded Her Majestyâs guard for many a year, and if there was one thing his worldly experience had taught him, it was that men had hairy chests and women had bumpy chests, and a damned pleasant difference it was.
Lady Honora poked him with her fan. âWhy are you smirking like that?â
Yet what was a woman doing playing a man playing a woman? His eyes narrowed as he watched the actor muddle her lines.
Lady Honora poked him again. âWhy are you frowning now?â
The girl couldnât have succeeded in this masquerade on her own. Someone had to know her secret, but who? That young buck? Or that posturing old scoundrel? Was she the troupeâs meretrix, or the hidden mistress of one happy man?
Lady Honora pinched his arm until he winced. âWhy are you mumbling? Itâs not natural.â
She didnât have a wealthy father. She didnât have a dowry, she wasnât as young as heâd imagined, and she certainly couldnât be a virgin.
Even if she proved to be one of those women who set a man on fire, who kept him enthralled with her body, he couldnât have her to wife. He couldnât have children by her. He couldnât sleep with her, eat with her, talk with her, for if he wed an actress, heâd be a laughingstock. All his care to build his name and reputation would be for naught. The queen would discard him like a used handkerchief. The nobility would look down their noses, and say, âBlood will tell.â The old tale of his illegitimacy and those years of misery would once more surface, and heâd be pitied.
God, how the pity made him cringe.
âYou look quite ill.â Lady Honora placed her hand on the back of his head and pushed. âPut your head between your knees lest you swoon.â
He looked at Lady Honora, his sisterâs crony, the woman who could buy him his dynasty, and he shuddered.
He looked up at the woman on the stage.
He didnât even know her name.
Lady Honora removed her hand and inched away. âYouâre burning with fever. Are you ill?â
Heâd lusted cautiously his whole life, never allowing physical circumstances to overpower his good sense. Heâd laughed at men who languished for a woman. No more and no matter. He would take that actress away from whoever kept her and keep her himself.
And if he had children with herâthe muscles of his throat tightened, and he could scarcely breatheâif he had children with her, heâd be condemning them to the same hell that had blistered and hardened his young hide.
He couldnât have her. No matter what, he couldnât have her, and his piercing sense of loss stunned and bewildered him.
âSir Anthony.â Lady Honora rose and shook out her skirts. âIf you can master yourself enough to rise, you should do your hostly duty, for the play is over.â
He was staring at the stage, he realized, staring at the woman who now bowed, one hand held by the old fart, the other clasped by the suave, smiling, slimy manwho looked as if he knew his way around a knife and garrote.
Embarrassed and mortified, Rosie tried to recover her hand from Ludovicâs sweaty palm, but he clutched her tightly. She tried to recover her hand from Sir Dannyâs cool fingers, but he clasped her firmly. She tried to turn away from Tonyâs cutting gaze, but he wouldnât release her.
Tony
He looked at the declaiming actor in womanâs clothes, and unable to bear the sight, he stared down at the ground. His elbows rested on his thighs, his hands hung between his legs and his hands were cupped. Cupped in the shape of a womanâs breast. Cupped in the shape ofâ¦he looked back at the stage.
Cupped in the shape of her breasts.
Her breasts. That was no man posturing and proclaiming.
That was a woman.
A woman.
Lady Honora whispered, âWhy are you holding your chest and sighing?â
Tony had fought in Her Majestyâs army, then commanded Her Majestyâs guard for many a year, and if there was one thing his worldly experience had taught him, it was that men had hairy chests and women had bumpy chests, and a damned pleasant difference it was.
Lady Honora poked him with her fan. âWhy are you smirking like that?â
Yet what was a woman doing playing a man playing a woman? His eyes narrowed as he watched the actor muddle her lines.
Lady Honora poked him again. âWhy are you frowning now?â
The girl couldnât have succeeded in this masquerade on her own. Someone had to know her secret, but who? That young buck? Or that posturing old scoundrel? Was she the troupeâs meretrix, or the hidden mistress of one happy man?
Lady Honora pinched his arm until he winced. âWhy are you mumbling? Itâs not natural.â
She didnât have a wealthy father. She didnât have a dowry, she wasnât as young as heâd imagined, and she certainly couldnât be a virgin.
Even if she proved to be one of those women who set a man on fire, who kept him enthralled with her body, he couldnât have her to wife. He couldnât have children by her. He couldnât sleep with her, eat with her, talk with her, for if he wed an actress, heâd be a laughingstock. All his care to build his name and reputation would be for naught. The queen would discard him like a used handkerchief. The nobility would look down their noses, and say, âBlood will tell.â The old tale of his illegitimacy and those years of misery would once more surface, and heâd be pitied.
God, how the pity made him cringe.
âYou look quite ill.â Lady Honora placed her hand on the back of his head and pushed. âPut your head between your knees lest you swoon.â
He looked at Lady Honora, his sisterâs crony, the woman who could buy him his dynasty, and he shuddered.
He looked up at the woman on the stage.
He didnât even know her name.
Lady Honora removed her hand and inched away. âYouâre burning with fever. Are you ill?â
Heâd lusted cautiously his whole life, never allowing physical circumstances to overpower his good sense. Heâd laughed at men who languished for a woman. No more and no matter. He would take that actress away from whoever kept her and keep her himself.
And if he had children with herâthe muscles of his throat tightened, and he could scarcely breatheâif he had children with her, heâd be condemning them to the same hell that had blistered and hardened his young hide.
He couldnât have her. No matter what, he couldnât have her, and his piercing sense of loss stunned and bewildered him.
âSir Anthony.â Lady Honora rose and shook out her skirts. âIf you can master yourself enough to rise, you should do your hostly duty, for the play is over.â
He was staring at the stage, he realized, staring at the woman who now bowed, one hand held by the old fart, the other clasped by the suave, smiling, slimy manwho looked as if he knew his way around a knife and garrote.
Embarrassed and mortified, Rosie tried to recover her hand from Ludovicâs sweaty palm, but he clutched her tightly. She tried to recover her hand from Sir Dannyâs cool fingers, but he clasped her firmly. She tried to turn away from Tonyâs cutting gaze, but he wouldnât release her.
Tony
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