Both protectively and possessively.
She should take exception to the evolving habit, but her witless senses were intrigued and unhelpfully tantalized by the suggestive attention.
The rest of the group quickly took their seats. Someone peeked out through the curtains, then, slowly, the heavy curtains parted on the first scene.
The play began. In such situations, it was accepted practice for the audience to call comments, suggestions, and directions to the players-who might or might not respond. Whatever the true tone of the play, the result was always a comedy, something the abbreviated scripts were designed to enhance; the players were expected to overplay the parts to the top of their bent.
While most in the audience called their comments loud enough for all to hear, Royce made his to her alone. His observations, especially on Mercutio, played to the hilt and beyond by his cousin Rohan, were so dry, so acerbic and cuttingly witty, that he reduced her to helpless giggles in short order-something he observed with transparently genuine approval, and what looked very like self-congratulation.
When Susannah appeared as Juliet, waltzing through her family’s ball, she returned the favor, making him smile, eventually surprising a laugh from him; she discovered she felt chuffed about that, too.
The balcony scene had them trying to outdo each other, just as Susannah and Phillip vied for the histrionic honors on stage.
When the curtain finally swished closed and the audience thundered their applause for a job well done, Royce discovered he had, entirely unexpectedly, enjoyed himself.
Unfortunately, as he looked around as footmen hurried in to light more candles, he realized the whole company had enjoyed themselves hugely-which augured very badly for him. They’d want to do a play every night until the fair; it took him only an instant to realize he’d have no hope of altering that.
He would have to find some way around his chatelaine’s latest hurdle.
Both he and Minerva rose with the others, chatting and exchanging comments. Along with the other players, Susannah reappeared, stepping down from the stage to rejoin the company. Slowly, he made his way to her side.
She turned as he approached, arched one dark brow. “Did you enjoy my performance?”
He arched a brow back. “Was it all performance?”
Susannah opened her eyes wide.
Minerva had drifted from Royce’s side. She’d been complimenting Rohan on his execution of Mercutio; she was standing only feet away from Susannah when Royce approached.
Close enough to see and hear as he complimented his sister, then more quietly said, “I take it Phillip is the latest to catch your eye. I wouldn’t have thought him your type.”
Susannah smiled archly and tapped his cheek. “Clearly, brother mine, you either don’t know my type, or you don’t know Phillip.” She looked across to where Phillip was laughing with various others. “Indeed,” Susannah continued, “we suit each other admirably well.” She glanced up at Royce, smiled. “Well, at least for the moment.”
Minerva inwardly frowned; she hadn’t picked up any connection between Phillip and Susannah-indeed, she’d thought Susannah’s interest lay elsewhere.
With a widening smile, Susannah waggled her fingers at Royce, then left him.
Royce watched her go, and inwardly shrugged; after his years in social exile, she was right-he couldn’t know her adult tastes that well.
He was about to look around for his chatelaine when Margaret raised her voice, directing everyone back to the drawing room. He would have preferred to adjourn elsewhere, but seeing Minerva go ahead on Rohan’s arm, fell in at the rear of the crowd.
The gathering in the drawing room was as uneventful as usual; rather than remind his chatelaine of his intentions, he bided his time, chatted with his cousins, and kept an eye on her from across the room.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t lulled. She clung to the group of females, Susannah included, who had rooms in the east wing; she left with them, deftly steering them up the wide main stairs-he didn’t bother following. He would have no chance of laying hands on her and diverting her to his room before she reached hers.
He retired soon after, considering his choices as he climbed the main stairs. He could join Minerva in her bed. She’d fuss, and try to order him out, shoo him away, but once he had her in his arms, all denial would be over.
There was a certain attraction in such a direct approach. However…he walked straight to his apartments, opened the door, went in, and closed it firmly behind him.
He walked into his bedroom, and looked at his bed.
And accepted that this time, she’d triumphed.
She’d won the battle, but it was hardly the war.
Walking into his dressing room, he shrugged out of his coat, and set it aside. Slowly undressing, he turned the reason he hadn’t gone to her room over in his mind.
In London, he’d always gone to his lovers’ beds. He’d never brought any lady home to his. Minerva, however, he wanted in his bed and no other.
Naked, he walked back into the bedroom, looked again at the bed. Yes, that bed. Lifting the luxurious covers, he slid between the silken sheets, lay back on the plump pillows, and stared up at the canopied ceiling.
This was where he wanted her, lying beside him, sunk in the down mattress within easy reach.
That was his vision, his goal, his dream.
Despite lust, desire, and all such weaknesses of the flesh, he wasn’t going to settle for anything less.
Eleven
The men around him had almost forgotten he was their duke; he’d almost forgotten, too. With his hacking jacket and neckerchief off, and his sleeves rolled up, his dark hair and all else covered in the inevitable detritus of cutting and baling hay, except for the quality of his clothes and his features, he could have been a farmer who’d stopped by to help.
Instead, he was the ducal landowner lured there by his chatelaine.
He’d wondered what she’d planned for the day-what her chosen path to avoid him would be. He’d missed her at breakfast, but while pacing before the study window dictating to Handley, he’d seen her riding off across his fields.
After finishing with Handley, he’d followed.
Of course, she hadn’t expected him to turn up at the haymaking, let alone that their day would evolve as it had, due to the impulse that had prompted him to offer to help.
He’d cut hay before, long ago, sneaking out of the castle and, against his father’s wishes, rubbing shoulders with the estate workers. His father had been a stickler for protocol and propriety, but he had never felt the need to adhere to and insist on every single privilege at every turn.
Some of the men remembered him from long ago, and hadn’t been backward over accepting his help-tendered, he had to admit, more to see how Minerva would react than anything else.
She’d met his gaze, then turned and offered to help the women. They’d worked alongside those they normally directed for the past several hours, he swinging a scythe in line with the men, she following with the women,
