Loretta smiled up at him. "I've never met him." She liked Swinnerton, who never leered at her. He never leered at any woman, and Loretta thought the better of him for that.
"Keep yourself away from the swells," he told her. "Those royal dukes have done us actors a great disservice. They all think to dally in the sheets with an actress is a rare treat."
Bluett hissed at Loretta but Swinnerton waved him silent. "The nobility's a queer lot," he added, "with a touching ability to think that they are of erotic interest. Which, invariably, they are not."
Loretta grinned at that and scampered after Jenny, who was waving at her from the stage entrance.
A second later they linked hands and pranced onto the stage, bobbing their curls and showing a touch of ankle. "I went to an alehouse and what did I see …" they sang.
From the outside, Loretta was all sparkling eyes, tossing curls, and dimples. But inside, she was thinking hard about the nobility. No duke would want to marry her: she knew that. But he might well want to sleep with her.
She wasn't going to do it. Mr. Spenser had been rather enticing, with his deep voice and beautiful cheekbones. It was probably the shock of the accident that made her collapse into his arms thinking he was even handsomer than Swinnerton. But look how that had ended: with her losing a part and a good five months in London. It was only the grace of God she had ended up without lines on her stomach for all to see the truth of it.
Swinnerton was right. She had to stay away from the occupants of Holbrook Court. She had no wish to find a duke between her sheets.
Nor yet to fall backwards into those sheets just to make herself a duchess.
Chapter 15
In Memoriam for Good Whiskey and Crimson Skirts
They were having a game of whist, Imogen and Gabriel Spenser against Rafe and Gillian. The pairing was rather obvious, to Imogen's mind.
"I forgot to mention that the floor of the green room was finished today," Rafe said, looking up from his cards. "Once we choose a play, we can assemble the cast and begin rehearsals."
Gillian kept touching his arm every once in a while. Not that Imogen cared, but didn't Rafe notice? Perhaps he did notice, and it pleased him.
Griselda was sitting on a chair next to Gillian's mother and sorting through one of the three large cases of theatrical costumes, stage properties, and face paints that had arrived from London that afternoon. "I have read all the various plays," she said, "and I have to admit that I couldn't make head nor tail of The School for Scandal. It seemed rather ill spirited. But The Man of Mode was quite humorous. I suppose that Rafe would play Dorimant?"
"That is the leading role," Gillian said, smiling at Rafe.
"But that means I'm playing a lover," Rafe said, looking rather disgusted.
Imogen bit her tongue. There was a dangerous spark in his eye that dared her to say something. But it was one thing to taunt a pickled Rafe about the working of his pump handle. It was quite another now. There were a thousand changes to him… his skin had a healthy flush to it, and he looked eminently capable. The thought made Imogen feel rather tongue-tied.
"Dorimant is certainly a lover," Gillian was telling Rafe. "After all, there are three females in his life: Mrs. Loveit is a friend, Belinda is another, and finally there is Harriet, who has just arrived in London and is quite unaffected. She is Dorimant's new love interest."
"Look at this splendid mustache!" Griselda said, holding up something that looked like a bunch of black chicken feathers. "There's a wig here too…" She dug back into the box.
"Which part will Miss Hawes play?" Rafe inquired of Gabe.
"I would expect that Miss Hawes will prefer to play Mrs. Loveit, as there is more room for passion in the role. She strikes me as the sort of actress who would wish to play a tragic role, and Mrs. Loveit indulges in a certain amount of grief when Dorimant casts her off."
"We wouldn't be able to manage a true tragedy," Gillian said. "You need good actors to play a tragedy. I've noted it again and again."
"I doubt I am a good actor," Rafe said. He raised his heavy-lidded eyes. "And I imagine that Imogen has the same misgivings that I do. I presume she will play Harriet?"
"I am quite looking forward to it," Imogen said, laying down a card. "Trump called."
"You must not have understood that you will be playing my love interest," he said. "You must lure me away from two experienced women, Mrs. Loveit and Belinda. You will have to conceal your cordial dislike, and that may take more dramatic skill than you possess."
"I doubt it," Imogen said calmly. "I would say that the demands of your part are the more rigorous. I read the play last night. You, sir, are supposed to be a man with something of the angel yet undefaced in him. Perhaps you could employ the mustache that Griselda found."
"You don't think I'm angelic?" he demanded.
She almost laughed but stopped herself. "No! And you, Mr. Spenser, what part will you play?"
"Mr. Fopling Flutter," Rafe said wickedly. "My brother must needs shed all this gravity of his. 'Twill be good for him."
"If I must play a role," Gabe said, "I should prefer to be Mr. Medley."
"A friend of Dorimant's," Imogen said, smiling at him. "I had thought you in a larger role than that, Mr.
Spenser." She put a hand on his arm. After all, if Gillian were doing the same to Rafe…
He looked for a second at her hand and then smiled at her, and Imogen felt a flutter of excitement.
Rafe looked across the table and narrowed his eyes. She was doing it again, gazing at poor Gabe as if he were a Sunday treat she intended to gobble. The very sight of it sent a pulse of longing for whiskey through him. If he were drinking, he wouldn't care whether his poor brother were seduced.
And yet it was the first night in weeks that he'd had no headache. He felt better, there was no doubt about it.
He wrenched his eyes away from Imogen and looked at Miss Pythian-Adams instead. Now there was a sensible young woman. She was not only delectable, but she showed no signs of wanting to bite a man's head off at the least provocation.
"I would have thought that you couldn't play cards," he said to Gabe. "Or play the part in an adulterous comedy, for that matter." He took another huge swallow of water.
Imogen turned from her infernal gazing at Gabe. "Be careful," she said, "you'll make yourself retch."
Bitch, Rafe thought to himself.
"I am not ordained," Gabe replied. "I study the Bible, but I do not profess to have the mission to do more than learn about its intricacies."
"Acting doesn't seem a professor-like thing to do," Rafe said, wanting to poke at his brother, though he hardly knew why. Other than that he wanted a drink.
"The Man of Mode is not about adultery," Gabe re-turned, his eyes narrowing a trifle. "Dorimant and Medley are unmarried, as is Belinda."
"But Mrs. Loveit?"
"For all I know, she's a charming widow," Gabe said, giving Imogen a smile.
Rafe felt a surge of rage at the sight. If only he had a drink… the truth of it was that now that he finally felt better, he was grappling with a burning desire for liquor. He felt as if his throat were parched, no matter how much water he drank.