Mastered By Love

standing before the hearth in her black gown with its modestly cut neckline, and amended the thought: a hunger- ravaged wolf slavering in expectation.

He started toward her. Within two steps, he registered that something was afoot; his sisters, his cousins, and those others still at the castle were abuzz and atwitter, the excitement of their conversations a hum all around him.

Suspicions had started forming before he reached Minerva. Margaret stood beside her; his elder sister turned as he neared, her face alight in a way he’d forgotten it could be. “Royce-Minerva’s made the most wonderful suggestion.”

Even before Margaret rattled on, he knew to his bones that he wasn’t going to share her sentiment.

“Plays-Shakespeare’s plays. There’s more than enough of us who’ve decided to stay to be able to perform one play each night-to entertain us until the fair. Aurelia and I felt that, as it’s now a week since the funeral, and given this is as private a party as could be, then there really could be no objections on the grounds of propriety.” Margaret looked at him, dark eyes alive. “What do you think?”

He thought his chatelaine had been exceedingly clever. He looked at her; she returned his gaze levelly, no hint of gloating in her expression.

Margaret and Aurelia especially, and Susannah, too, were all but addicted to amateur theatricals; while he’d been in the south at Eton, then Oxford, they’d had to endure many long winters holed up in the castle-hence their passion. He’d forgotten that, but his chatelaine hadn’t.

His respect for her as an opponent rose a definite notch.

He shifted his gaze to Margaret. “I see no objection.”

He could see no alternative; if he objected, put his foot down and vetoed the plays, his sisters would sulk and poke and prod at him until he changed his mind. Expression mild, he arched a brow. “Which play will you start with?”

Margaret glowed. “Romeo and Juliet. We still have all the abridged scripts, and the costumes and bits and pieces from when we used to do these long ago.” She laid a hand on Royce’s arm-in gratitude, he realized-then released him. “I must go and tell Susannah-she’s to be Juliet.”

Royce watched her go; from the questions thrown at her and the expressions evoked by her answers, everyone else was keen and eager to indulge in the amusement.

Minerva had remained, the dutiful chatelaine, beside him. “I assume,” he said, “that we’re to be regaled with Romeo and Juliet tonight?”

“That’s what they’d planned.”

“Where?”

“The music room. It’s where the plays were always held. The stage and even the curtain are still there.”

“And”-the most telling question-“just when did you make this brilliant suggestion of yours?”

She hesitated, hearing the underlying displeasure in his voice. “This morning over breakfast. They were moaning about how bored they were growing.”

He let a moment pass, then murmured, “If I might make a suggestion, the next time you consider how bored they might be, you might first like to consider how bored I might be.”

Turning, he met her eyes, only to see her smile.

“You weren’t bored today.”

There was no point in lying. “Perhaps not, but I am going to be utterly bored tonight.”

Her smile widened as she looked toward the door. “You can’t have everything.”

Retford’s summons rolled out. With irresistible deliberation, Royce took her arm. Noted the sudden leap of her pulse. Lowered his head to murmur as he led her to the door, “But I do intend to have everything from you. Everything, and more.”

Placing her beside him again at dinner, he took what revenge he could, his hand drifting over the back of her waist as he steered her to her chair, his fingers stroking over her hand as he released her.

Minerva weathered the moments with what fortitude she could muster; jangling nerves and skittish senses were a price she was prepared to pay to avoid his ducal bed.

Frustratingly, no one-not even Margaret-seemed to think Royce monopolizing her company at all odd. Then again, with him leaning back in his great carver, making her turn to face him, their conversation remained largely private; presumably the others thought they were discussing estate matters. Instead…

“I take it Romeo and Juliet was not your choice.” He sat back, twirling his wineglass between his long fingers.

“No. It’s Susannah’s favorite-she was keen to play the part.” She tried to keep her attention on her plate.

A moment passed. “How many of Shakespeare’s plays involve lovers?”

Too many. She reached for her wineglass-slowed to make sure he wasn’t going to say anything to make her jiggle it; when he kept silent, she gratefully grasped it and took a healthy sip.

“Do you intend to take part-to trip the stage in one of the roles?”

“That will depend on how many plays we do.” She set her glass down, made a mental note to check which plays were safe to volunteer for.

By example, she tried to steer his attention to the conversations farther down the table; with the increasing informality, these were growing more general-and more rowdy.

Indeed, more salacious. Some of his male cousins were calling suggestions to Phillip-cast as Romeo-as to how best to sweep his Juliet into the lovers’ bed.

To her consternation, Royce leaned forward, paying attention to the jocular repartee. Then he murmured, his voice so low only she could hear, “Perhaps I should make some suggestions?”

Her mind immediately conjured an all too evocative memory of his last attempt to sweep her into his bed; when her intellect leapt to the fore and hauled her mind away, it merely skittered to the time before that, to his lips on hers, to the pleasure his long fingers had wrought while he’d pinned her to the wall in the lust-heavy dark…

It took effort to wrestle her wits free, to focus on his words. “But you haven’t succeeded.”

She would have called back the words the instant she uttered them; they sounded collected and calm-nothing like what she felt.

Slowly, he turned his head and met her eyes. Smiled-that curving of his lips that carried a promise of lethal reaction rather than any soothing reassurance. “Not. Yet.”

He dropped the quiet words like stones into the air between them; she felt the tension pull, then quiver. Felt something within her inwardly tremble-not with apprehension but a damning anticipation. She forced herself to arch a brow, then deliberately turned her attention back down the table.

As soon as dessert was consumed, Margaret dispatched Susannah, Phillip, and the rest of the cast to the music room to prepare. Everyone else remained at the table, finishing their wine, chatting-until Margaret declared the players had had time enough, and the entire company adjourned to the music room.

The music room lay in the west wing, at the point where the north wing joined it. Part of both wings, the room was an odd shape, having two doors, one opening to the north wing and one to the west wing corridors, and only one window-a wide one angled between the two outer walls. The shallow dais that formed the stage filled the floor before the window, a trapezoid that extended well into the room. The stage itself was the rectangle directly in front of the window, while the triangular areas to either side had been paneled off, blocking them off from the audience sitting in the main part of the room, creating wings in which the players could don the finery that made up their costumes, and stage props and furniture could be stored.

Thick velvet curtains concealed the stage. Footmen had set up four rows of gilt-backed chairs across the room before it. The crowd filed in, chatting and laughing, noting the closed curtains, and the dimness created by having only three candelabra on pedestals lighting the large room; a chandelier, fully lit, cast its light down upon the presently screened stage.

Minerva didn’t even attempt to slip from Royce’s side as he guided her to a seat in the second row, to the right of the center aisle. She sat, grateful to have survived the trip from the dining room with nothing more discomposing than the sensation of his hand at her waist, and the curious aura he projected of hovering over and around her.