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Authors: Tamara Lejeune

BOOK: When You're Desired
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Chapter 15
Toward the end of the second act, Celia hurried to her dressing room to change out of Miss Hardcastle's silk gown. In the next scene Marlow was to mistake her for a quaint country barmaid, having already mistaken Mr. Hardcastle's house for a quaint country inn.
“Damnation!” she cried savagely, slamming the door. “Did you
see
that, Flood?” She sat down on the settee to examine her shoe. “Charley Palmer trod on my foot in the scene! He
kicked
my heel—I'm quite certain he broke it. I know he's supposed to be a bit awkward, but—damnation! It's not my fault I'm taller than he! Look! It's all wobbly!”
Holding up her left shoe, she demonstrated that the heel had indeed come loose.
But it was not Flood who came through the muslin curtain to look.
“Ah! Here is the real Celia St. Lys,” said Simon. Stepping from the alcove, he mocked her with slow applause. His eyes mocked her, too, even as he noted that she looked gloriously beautiful even though she was cross. He noted, too, that a collar of pink diamonds glittered at her throat. “No one who ever saw you onstage would ever guess what a foul-mouthed shrew you really are.”
Celia glowered at him. “What do you want? As if I didn't know,” she added with a sneer. “You want what all men want. Well, you'll have to be quick about it, I'm afraid. I've a costume change—and I need the jakes, too.”
“Don't flatter yourself, madam. I have not come here to repeat the mistakes of last night.”
She smiled sweetly. “Oh, that's right. I forgot! You prefer virgins now. I'm afraid Miss Archer is onstage at the moment—and she's the only virgin we've got at the moment.”
“They do seem to be scarce as hen's teeth in this place.”
Kicking off her other shoe, she climbed to her feet and walked in her stockings past the muslin curtain. There was no sign of her faithful Flood in the alcove.
“I see you are wearing Sir Lucas's necklace.”
“No, my lord. I am wearing
my
necklace. Where the devil is my bloody dresser?” she went on angrily. “What have you done with her, you brute?”
“I'm here, madam!” cried Flood, coming in through the outer door. “I've brought you the other mules. And sure Charley Palmer will be getting an earful from me, for he done that on purpose!” The Irishwoman stopped short as she saw Lord Simon. “What's he doing here?” she asked warily, as she darted into the alcove.
“Pay no attention to him, Flood,” Celia called to her gaily. “Just come and help me change. What do you want, my lord? I'm sure it
must
be important. Lord Simon is a very important man, you know. Everything he says and does is of the utmost importance. Just ask him! He serves the Prince of Wales, you know.”
Glaring at Simon, Flood quickly drew the curtain. “I don't care who he serves. He's no business in your dressing room, madam.”
“But a girl such as I must make way for these great men,” said Celia. “We must take great care not to offend them, lest they ruin us poor girls. Whom do you fetch me for tonight, Lord Simon?” she called. “Last time, it was only a coal merchant, which vexed me greatly. Why, I wouldn't lie down for anything less than a viscount.”
Simon could hear the rustle of silk as Flood began unlacing her mistress's gown. “I am looking for my brother, Miss St. Lys,” he said, holding his temper in check. “Have you seen him today?”
“In
my
dressing room?” Celia cried. “For shame, Lord Simon!”
“He is not in his box tonight,” Simon replied, “but you know that already.”
“I do hate to see an empty box,” Celia admitted, “even though his subscription is paid up. He might at least have lent it to a friend for the evening!”
“Did you
expect
to see him tonight?” Simon pursued. “Had you made plans?”
“Oh, I'm
always
making plans,” she responded with maddening gaiety. “I never leave anything to chance, if I can help it. Life is rather like going to war, isn't it? It's important to marshal your forces and choose your ground. It's the high ground that's most desirable, isn't it?”
“Do you know where Dorian is?” Simon demanded roughly.
“How would I know? He's your brother, not mine.”
“Have you seen him today?”
“What if I did?”
“
Did
you see him?” Simon shouted.
“There's no need to shout,” she said primly. “I am not deaf. Yes! I saw him earlier today.”
“When? Where?”
“I don't know
when
,” she said crossly. “I don't live with an eye on the clock, you know. What do you take me for, a bank clerk? His Grace came to my house to apologize for his conduct last night. I don't suppose
you
have any intention of apologizing for
yours
?”
“And you have not seen my brother since?”
“Since . . . ?” She sounded confused.
“Since he apologized to you!”
“You're shouting again,” she complained. “He drove me to the theatre in his cabriolet. He watched some of the rehearsal for the new play. Then he left.”
“Where did he go?”
“He took me home.”
“Then what?”
“Then he left. Before you ask, I don't know where he was going. He didn't say.”
He looked at her intently. “Were you not curious?”
“I'm always curious, Lord Simon,” she replied, “but never inquisitive. Unlike yourself.”
Celia stepped from behind the muslin curtain. She had removed her bonnet and was now plainly dressed in a modestly cut gown of brown bombazine, ready to be mistaken for the barmaid. “No, wait! I tell a lie! Now that I think of it,” she said slowly, as if recalling a distant memory, “he did say something about a ball.”
Simon frowned. “Ball? What sort of ball?”
“I think we can safely assume that it wasn't a
cannon
ball.”
“Which ball?” he said, flushing with anger. “I mean, whose? It's the height of the season. There must be five balls going on tonight.”
“How should I know whose ball?” she snapped. “
I
wasn't invited!”
Simon smiled thinly. “Poor Celia!” he murmured. “Out in the cold again. I could have told you Dorian was not for you. He wants a wife, not a mistress.”
She smiled slowly. “Oh! Did you think he was going to ask me to marry him?”
“Certainly not.”
“Yes, you did,” she said, her smile growing wider. “That's why you are here, looking for him so frantically. Don't worry! I haven't the slightest yearning to become a duchess. All those secret pregnancies, and she gets murdered in the end, anyway—strangled by her brothers.”
“What are you talking about?”
“
The Duchess of Malfi
, of course. What are
you
talking about?” She laughed. “Don't you worry about me, young man. I'll be just fine out here in the cold. Something will turn up for me. Something always does.”
There was a knock on the door. “Five minutes, Miss St. Lys!” the call boy cried through the door.
“If you don't mind,” said Celia, pointing to the door. “Time is short, and I still need to visit Mr. Jakes behind the screen.”
Simon at once made his way to the door. “I must be going, anyway,” he said. “I am on duty at Carlton House tonight.”
“Miss Archer will be so sorry she missed you,” said Celia. “I'd be happy to convey a message to her for you.”
“No message. I look forward to taking her riding in Hyde Park tomorrow afternoon.”
Celia smiled. “On her unicorn?”
He opened the door but paused with his hand on the knob. “Perhaps we will have the pleasure of seeing
you
there, Miss St. Lys, mounted on your dragon.”
“I shouldn't think so. I've better things to do.”
“But you ride every Sunday in Hyde Park with Fitzclarence,” he taunted her.
“Not
every
Sunday,” she said coldly.
Simon clucked his tongue. “Do forgive me! I did hear that Fitzclarence had broken with you. His new mistress is in the play, is she not? That must be hard for you.”
“Not at all. I've already replaced him—with Tom West.”
He laughed. “Tom West! Your garden bench? Oh, you
are
scraping the bottom of the barrel, aren't you?”
“You have your virgin, and I have mine,” she said. “That's fair, isn't it?”
Simon bit his lip to contain his fury. “You forgot to remove your necklace,” he informed her. “You'll never be mistaken for a barmaid with a collar of pink diamonds at your throat—not until you open your mouth, that is.”
As Celia's hands flew to her throat, he went out without another word, slamming the door behind him.
 
 
“Good God!” exclaimed the duchess when she saw her younger son's face. She had been waiting in her carriage outside the theatre for three quarters of an hour and her nerves had gotten the better of her sense. “You've seen him!” she squawked. “They are married!”
“Don't talk nonsense,” he said roughly. “Of course they are not married.”
“Then why do you look like that?” she cried. “I vow, you are
ashen
.”
“Sometimes I think I could cheerfully murder that woman,” Simon muttered.
The duchess shuddered. “Oh, I do hope it doesn't come to that!”
“I shouldn't think so,” said Simon, regaining his composure. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“Nothing to worry about! Where is Dorian? Where is my son?”
Simon chuckled. “Dorian,” he replied, “is at a ball.”
“A ball?” she repeated in disbelief. “What sort of ball?”
“I think, madam,” he replied, “we can safely assume it is not a
cannon
ball.”
Dorian was indeed at a ball, for he had his instructions. In fact, he went to five separate balls that night, staying at each one just long enough to make his presence felt before moving on to the next. A little after two in the morning, he made his way to Grillon's Hotel, where Celia was waiting for him, bundled in furs in a plain, hired chaise-and-four. While waiting for the duke, she had enjoyed a light supper and a refreshing nap in a private room of the hotel.
“Sorry I'm a bit late, Sally,” he said as he settled into the seat opposite her.
Celia yawned comfortably as the carriage rolled out of the drive onto the street. “I assume you were having a good time?”
“Yes,” said Dorian, sounding surprised. “I did rather enjoy it.”
“First time without your mother?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“I guessed as much. Did you dance?”
“I had my orders, didn't I?” he replied, grinning. “At each venue, I marched right up to the prettiest girl and asked her to dance.”
“And did any of these fair maidens think it a good idea?”
“Yes; all of them,” he replied modestly. “I made quite a splash.”
Celia laughed. “Well done, Casanova! And how many balls did the Duke of Berkshire grace with his presence?”
“Four—nay, five! At the fifth, I did not dance, for upon arriving I heard that my mother was there—looking for
me
, no doubt! I felt it best to move on.”

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