She cleared her throat. “I have been asked—”
Her voice cracked, and she stopped. The sides rustled as she clenched them tighter in her fingers, and though her lips parted, she didn’t speak. Instead, she stared wordlessly out at the seats. Despite his wish that she just go away, Denys felt a hot, painful embarrassment on her behalf, echoing back to that fateful opening night at the Adelphi, and for some stupid reason, he felt impelled to come to her aid.
“Is something wrong, Miss Valentine?” he asked, putting a deliberate hint of mockery into his voice. “You’re not nervous, are you?”
That did the trick. A flush of color came into those pale cheeks, revealing a hint of the temperamental, passionate woman he recognized, and he cursed himself for goading her. If he’d resisted that impulse, her propensity to be tongue-tied just might have been enough to do her in.
“I am perfectly well, my lord, thank you,” she answered, her voice steadier than before. She once again lifted the sheaf of papers in her hands. “I have been asked to read for Bianca.”
“Very well.” Reminding himself it was best to have this over with as quickly as possible, he once again settled back in his seat. “Why don’t you begin with your entrance in Act Five, Scene One?”
“Act Five?” She stared at him, clearly surprised by this unexpected scene choice. And she wasn’t the only one.
“Usurping my job, Denys?” Jacob asked beside him, and when he turned toward the director, he observed the other man studying him in some amusement. “Taking a rather strong interest in the proceedings, aren’t you?” he murmured.
“In this case, it’s warranted, don’t you think?” Denys countered, his voice equally low, but adamant. “I lost a lot of money the last time this woman was in a play I backed.”
“Perfectly understandable of you to take an interest then,” Jacob replied, seeming not the least bit fooled. “But I am curious, my friend. Why Act Five? Bianca has only a few lines. That’s hardly sufficient to show the girl’s ability.”
“On the contrary,” Denys replied, his voice equally low. “Bianca sees that Cassio is injured and may be dying, and she’s accused of injuring him, so this is a very dramatic moment, the perfect place for Miss Valentine to demonstrate her skills.”
Jacob’s mouth quirked. “And if she’s terrible, we won’t have to sit through very much before we send her packing.”
“Well, yes, that, too.”
Chuckling, Jacob sat back, spreading his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Carry on, my friend. In this case, I am content to observe.”
Denys returned his attention to the stage. “Jimmy?” he called to the reader. “Are you ready?”
The young man nodded and held up his script. “Yes, my lord.”
“Excellent. You may begin, Miss Valentine. That is,” he added, watching her flip through her sides to locate the appropriate page, “if you can find Act Five?”
She paused to look at him, and her eyes narrowed a fraction. “I don’t need to find it,” she said, and dropped the clipped sheaf of papers to the floor behind her. “I was merely keeping busy until you had finished your discussions with Mr. Roth. If you are finally ready, I’m happy to begin.”
She turned away without waiting for an answer and walked to the wing of stage right, then turned and faced Jimmy. “ ‘What is the matter, ho?’ ” she recited as she started toward him. “ ‘Who is’t that cried?’ ”
She made no effort to mask her American accent, but even Denys had to admit her cant was decent. Many talented actors, even in British theater, found Shakespeare’s dialogue a trial.
As if spying Cassio’s injured body on the ground, she gave a cry and sank to her knees, a show of abandon quite unnecessary for a first audition. Denys tensed, bracing himself for more of the overdone histrionics she had displayed in A Doll’s House, but to his surprise, she didn’t live up to that expectation. Instead, her distress over the injuries of her lover was restrained, and—as much as he hated to admit it—believable. A few moments later, accused of being the one who had injured Cassio, her denial was convincing enough that he began to think perhaps she actually had learned something about acting while in New York.
For heaven’s sake, Denys, what do you think I’ve been doing the past six years? Eating chocolates and sitting on my behind?
Drawn by that provocative question, Denys’s gaze roamed over her form. Memories enabled him to see beneath the plain blue skirt and white shirtwaist to the splendid body beneath, and images came into his mind before he could stop them—full, round breasts and lushly curved hips, pale, luminous skin and long, exquisite legs, dark red hair spilling across ivory sheets and deep green emeralds glittering around her throat, emeralds he had insisted on buying her.
He began to burn, memories pulling him down, down into that dark, sweet place where lust and love and obsession had once melded together to enslave his soul, where nothing in the world had mattered to him but having her. He’d been ready to sacrifice everything dear to him, to turn his back on everyone else he loved, in order to keep her.
And then, she had left him.
Denys dragged himself out of the past, and it was like thrashing in the water to come up for air—an exercise that only twenty-four hours after her reappearance in his life already felt exhausting.
He blinked, staring at the stage, focusing on the present, telling himself that her audition wasn’t all that impressive, that several of the other actresses here would be better suited. By her last lines of the scene, he had almost convinced himself she’d been little more than adequate.
“ ‘Fie,’ ” Jimmy said, “ ‘fie upon thee, strumpet!’ ”
Lola’s frame stiffened, and her chin went up. Something in the air shifted, like the crackle of static electricity, and then, with a suddenness that took his breath away, all the courage previously hidden beneath Bianca’s jealous nature was at the fore, clear as daylight.
“ ‘I am no strumpet,’ ” she declared. Turning her head to look straight at him, she said her last line of the play. “ ‘But of life as honest as you that thus abuse me.’ ”
He knew that for Lola, the words were a lie, but in her role as Bianca, the declaration rang out true, vehement, and convincing. Her face, as always, was breathtakingly beautiful, but at this moment, it also showed Bianca’s inherent courage.
My God, he thought, startled, sitting up a bit straighter in his seat. What if she really can act?
Even as that thought passed through his head, he tried to dismiss it. There wasn’t any meat to the role she was reading for. And Jacob had been right to point out that Act Five wasn’t much of a basis on which to judge her talent.
“Well, well,” Jacob murmured beside him, laughing a little. “Your plan seems to be backfiring, my friend. I think a more demanding test of Miss Valentine’s skill is required.”
Without waiting for an answer, Jacob turned toward the stage. “Thank you, Miss Valentine,” he said, breaking the silence. “If Lord Somerton has no objection, I’d like to see more.”
Denys stirred, but hell, what could he say? He was supposed to be an observer, and nothing more. This, he appreciated darkly, was what a man got for being fair.