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  “You see, Miss St. George,” he began, leaning in closer, which made Amelia’s heart race. “I’m new to Drury Lane. Only took over as manager a little over a month ago, and I inherited, well, something of a mess.”

  “A mess? Oh, the paperwork!” Relief rushed through her. Of course she was there to help him with the paperwork—that’s what he was gaining from the relationship.

  “The paperwork, yes,” he agreed. “But that is the least of my problems.”

  Amelia furrowed her brow, confused. “Oh?”

  “My bigger, more complicated problem comes in the form of a woman.”

  “Oh, dear,” Amelia whispered. “You mean Ms. von Engel, don’t you?” She was beautiful and a supreme actress, from what Amelia had heard. She couldn’t imagine why Mr. Price would have any problems with her.

  Mr. Price closed his eyes and shook his head. “She is the bane of my existence, Miss St. George.”

  “But she is your leading lady!” Amelia exclaimed, and when Mr. Price looked nervously about, she lowered her voice and repeated, “But she is your leading lady.”

  “Not for long, if I have anything to do with it.” Mr. Price leveled her with his piercing dark eyes. “You are more beautiful by far, and I have a feeling that with a little training, you will prove to be more talented as well. London will receive you like they’ve never received any actress before. You will be the toast of London theatre. And Sofia von Engel will be but a vague memory to us all, God willing.”

  Amelia couldn’t speak for shock. Was he mad? “Mr. Price,” she began, trying to decipher which of her multitude of emotions she would settle on. She was incredibly flattered, of course, and part of her was eager to jump at the opportunity. But another part of her didn’t want to gain her success in such a way. Besides, Ms. von Engel seemed the vengeful type. It might not be good for Amelia’s health to entangle herself with the current toast of London. “I am flattered, really I am. But pitting me against Sofia von Engel? Well, it wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I set out for a career on the stage.”

  “Things never turn out like we plan them, Miss St. George. We must jump at opportunity when it is presented.”

  “She’ll hate me,” Amelia said by way of a protest.

  “She already does.”

  This caught Amelia up short. What in the world had she done to make the woman dislike her? They’d not even had a single interaction. “She does?”

  Mr. Price leaned in closer. “She hates any woman, no matter her station, if she perceives her to be more beautiful than she.”

  “Really, Mr. Price, you must stop flattering me so. I’ve looked in a mirror many times, and I hardly think beautiful is an appropriate word to describe me.”

  “Which makes you even more so,” Mr. Price said with a smile. “It’s hardly attractive when a woman knows her beauty. It’s the ones who are oblivious that make the men fall to their feet and profess undying love.”

  Amelia scoffed. “I’ve hardly had men falling at my feet.” Well, that wasn’t entirely true, was it? Mr. Barclay had quite literally fallen at her feet, but those were very different circumstances.

  “But you will.” Mr. Price sat back and folded his arms over his chest, giving a sense of finality to their conversation. “Ah. Our dinner is here.”

  While they ate, Mr. Price shared his story of how he came to manage the theatre, and when they finished, he offered to walk her home.

  “I’m staying here, actually,” Amelia lied. “I’ve taken a room upstairs.”

  Mr. Price raised his dark eyebrows. “Really? Why didn’t you say as much?”

  Amelia shrugged. “I don’t know. It didn’t come up.” Her voice turned up on the last word, making it sound more like a question than a statement.

  Her employer glanced about, his brow furrowed, and then brought his gaze back to her. “Well, then, I shall leave you to it. Good night, Miss St. George. I shall see you in the morning.”

  “Good night, Mr. Price.”

  Amelia wanted nothing more than to dart from the pub across the street to the theatre as quickly as possible. What if she couldn’t get in now? She hadn’t even considered that it might be locked up at this late hour. The theatre was where she’d actually taken up residence, despite the fact she had funds to go elsewhere. She had learned in the last few days that there were no guarantees in life, and holding on to the money she’d been given by Lord and Lady Leyburn seemed a good idea. So, she’d found a bed amongst the old set pieces, and heavy coats from the costume closet kept her warm at night. In the morning, she put everything back before anyone discovered her sleeping there, and went straight to Mr. Price’s office to work. He came in later in the morning, so he hadn’t thought anything of her being there before him.

  But she had to wait now. She had to make sure he was truly out of sight before she returned to the theatre. She watched the clock that hung over the bar, but the minutes felt like hours, ticking by so very slowly. Finally, when five whole minutes had passed, Amelia stood from the table, wrapped her cloak about her shoulders, and ventured out into the dark night.

  A cold wind whipped against her face and chilled her all the way down to her toes. With this as motivation, she darted across the street and went straight to the side door of the theatre. She said a little prayer before she tugged, and then cursed the gods when she found it locked. Now what was she to do? Panic settled in at the thought of spending the night on the street, in the cold. If only she’d thought to bring her reticule, but clearly she hadn’t been thinking at all. Poor Mr. Price would arrive to find his protégé frozen to death outside the theatre tomorrow.

  Blast and damn!

  Amelia took a step back from the door and looked up and down the alley, searching for something she could huddle against to at least block out the cold and wind. There was nothing, and even the doorjambs were too shallow to provide any kind of protection. She could go back into the pub, but without any money, she was certain they’d send her on her way soon enough. She simply had no other choice but to huddle against the alley wall and tough it out until morning.

  The prospect made her heart sink and tears pricked at the backs of her eyelids. She’d not wanted to use the generous sum that Lady Leyburn had given to her, preferring to keep it and save it in the case of a true emergency. Yet here she was, in somewhat of an emergency, with not a farthing.

  She was about to settle against the rough brick wall when a figure appeared at the end of the alley. Tall and imposing, with a top hat that made him even taller. At first, she worried that Mr. Price had come back, but upon closer investigation, she saw this man was a much larger person. Not fat, simply more imposing. But why was he staring down the alleyway? Had he seen her? And what would a lone woman in an alley matter to this strange gentleman?

  Oh, good heavens!

  It wasn’t the first time she’d been mistaken for a Covent Garden lady.

  Fear racked her body, causing her stomach to roil and her heart to race. She jumped from her spot against the wall and started toward the other end of the alley.

  “Wait!” the man called, his deep voice reverberating off the brick walls. “Please, miss! I mean you no harm.”

  His footsteps fell fast and heavy behind her. She knew she was no match for such an athletic-looking man, especially not in her blasted kid boots. Within moments, he had caught up to her. He wrapped a hand around her upper arm, halting her escape and swinging her around. She closed her eyes, afraid to face her attacker.

  “Please!” she cried, hating the desperation in her voice. “I’m not a prostitute!”

  “Amelia?”

  Amelia opened her eyes and shock quickly replaced her panic. Her heart still raced but for an entirely different reason. What was he doing here?

  “Tom?” she said, confused. Perhaps she was dreaming. “What are you doing here?”

  His hands, so warm and strong, gripped her upper arms as he stood before her. “I could ask you the same. Did you mean to sleep
in the alley?”

  “I—” Amelia averted her gaze. “I got locked out.”

  Tom’s eyes widened. “What business did you have at Drury Lane this late at night?”

  When she remained silent, Tom jumped to his own conclusion.

  “You’ve been sleeping in the theatre?”

  “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

  “My sister has offered more than once to take you in.”

  It was clear he was getting rather upset by the situation, what with his raised tone and smoldering eyes. And she was truly in no position to argue with him. She had, after all, found herself on the street this evening.

  “And,” he continued, “I know for fact she gave you a large sum of money to take care of yourself. So what in bloody hell is going on here, Miss St. George?”

  “Please,” Amelia begged. “Don’t be cross with me. I know I’ve been foolish and nonsensical. I’ve let my pride and my blind determination dictate my actions, and—”

  Tom pulled her against him, just before planting his lips upon hers. Amelia wasn’t at all certain what was happening. Why was he kissing her? And why was she letting him? Good heavens. It wasn’t at all like that first kiss he gave her—the one he used simply to shut her up. No, this was different. His lips parted and he gently probed at her mouth with his tongue, urging her to do the same. She gave in, not knowing or understanding what it was all about, but liking it just the same. He cradled her nape with one hand while he wrapped the other around the small of her back, holding her tightly against him. They stayed that way, even when he pulled back, and he gazed down into her eyes.

  His own eyes were half shuttered with what Amelia could only describe as desire. Not that she knew anything of passion or desire or lust—she’d been sheltered for far too long at Ms. Denby’s School for Girls to know anything about those things. But she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she very much liked what she was feeling.

  “What was that for?” she whispered as she stared up at him.

  “I—I don’t know,” Tom replied, and then he removed his arms from her person and took a step backward. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Amelia said. “It’s the warmest I’ve been all night.”

  They both laughed at her absurd attempt at a joke.

  “What am I to do with you, Miss St. George?” he asked, humor still in his voice.

  “You don’t happen to have a key to the theatre, do you?”

  Tom shrugged and playfully replied, “I must have left it at home.”

  Amelia smiled, and then silence fell between them as they stared at one another, the passion still crackling between them, even in the frigid air.

  “Well, you can’t sleep out here,” he said matter-of-factly. “You’ll freeze to death and I’ll not have that on my conscience.”

  “Such a gentleman you are,” Amelia teased, though her belly did flip-flops at the thought that he seemed to care about what happened to her.

  Tom put his arm around her and led her back down the alley. She reveled in the warmth and security he provided.

  “Where will you take me?”

  “Well, you have two options, as I see it.” They reached the end of the alley and he turned to face her. “I can deliver you to my sister’s, or…”

  Amelia raised her eyebrows. “Or?”

  “Or you can come home with me.”

  His words hung in the frigid air, so hot and heavy that Amelia had to try hard to force air into her lungs. Sure, she’d stayed in his home in Welwyn. But that had been different. He hadn’t really wanted her there, for one. Furthermore, he’d not invited her with that sultry tone or smoldering gaze. Lastly, they’d not been in London. To go home with him—to be seen with him in Town—well, people would assume things.

  Would those assumptions be true were she to go home with him?

  “Well,” she finally said, “which would you prefer?”

  The lust lingering in his green eyes made Amelia’s insides feel as if they’d turned to lava. She could probably survive a night on the street if only she kept imagining how he looked at her now.

  “Taking you home with me would be the nail in your coffin, you know?”

  Amelia blinked up at him, unsure of what he meant. “How so?”

  “You’ll not be able to go back into polite society,” he clarified. “You’ll brand yourself a…”

  “Loose woman?” she finished for him.

  “I don’t like to think of you that way.”

  Amelia wasn’t sure how to take any of this. Did he mean to keep her for a mistress? Would that be so very bad? She was already sealing her fate by working and pursuing a career on the stage. Why not play the part in its entirety? It wasn’t as if anyone cared. Father might be looking for her, but not to save her reputation. Anything that man did was simply to exercise his power. Well, she’d not let him control her anymore. She was master of her own life, her own fate. Ton be damned. What she wanted was to go home with Tom. Tonight.

  “I don’t really care what anyone else thinks of me,” Amelia replied, feeling emboldened. “Obviously, or I wouldn’t be in this position in the first place.”

  A sly grin spread Tom’s lips. “Should I take that to mean you’re coming home with me?”

  Amelia hesitated. The implications of going home with him were huge. She could ruin herself forever. Not to mention she didn’t know the slightest thing about what she was considering. Goodness, she was barely out of the schoolroom. She wasn’t naïve, but she was certainly greener than the average woman of the demimonde. Still, the way her heart beat now, so fast, and just for him, was all she needed to understand. “Yes,” she answered at last. “Take me home.”

  Thirteen

  Tom wasn’t entirely certain he was in his right mind. Taking this chit home could prove to be a mistake of monumental proportions. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for men of his ilk and position to take a mistress, though they were rarely young debutantes who had been raised for a proper life in Society.

  Tom’s last mistress had been anything but proper. Ms. von Engel was as adventurous in the bedroom as she was shrewd out of it. But her tantrums and insistence on his constant attention were too much for him. He didn’t want to be tied down—not after what had happened with Bianca. She’d broken his heart into a million little pieces, and he wasn’t looking for another woman who could do it again.

  Well, not until now. The voices in his head screamed at him to reconsider, to stop chasing after her, and certainly to renege on his offer to take her home. But something inside him—his heart, perhaps?—forced him to do otherwise.

  And now here he was, pulling up outside of his townhome with the beautiful Amelia St. George sitting across from him.

  He studied her as she peered out of the window. Her legs bounced up and down at a rapid pace, and her breathing was shallow, though every few moments she would suck in a larger breath, trying to calm her racing heart, he assumed.

  “Amelia,” he said quietly, drawing her attention to him as the carriage drew to a stop.

  She looked at him as if she’d forgotten he was there in the first place.

  “You needn’t be so nervous. I don’t plan to ravish you tonight, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Her eyes grew wide, but then she said, “Tomorrow then?”

  Tom threw his head back, a loud chuckle escaping his throat. He had to admire her eagerness for scandal. “How about we wait and see what happens?”

  Amelia nodded, the butterflies in her stomach calming only slightly. The door opened and a footman held out his hand to her. She accepted it and then waited on the ground for Tom to alight. He offered his arm and then led her into his townhome. It was well-appointed, with a marble foyer and rich dark woods.

  “Fanny’s prepared a room for you,” he said as he handed off his greatcoat to Carlisle.

  Already? Had he told them to expect her? Or were they always prepared for him to bring home strange women?
r />   She didn’t like the thought of the latter at all, which was foolish. She laid no claim to him, after all. His kiss might have meant nothing, and he was simply being kind in inviting her here. There’d been no talk of an arrangement, other than his joke about ravishing her. Amelia wasn’t sure whether to take him seriously or not.

  She turned to Fanny, grateful for a familiar face, and gave her a little smile. If she found the situation as awkward as Amelia did, she didn’t show it.

  “Right this way, Miss St. George,” Fanny said.

  With one last glance at Tom, Amelia followed the maid up the stairs to her room. Why was she so very nervous? She’d been here before, in this exact position with this very same man. Yet everything had changed, hadn’t it? Attraction crackled between them now, where only frustration and annoyance had been before. The promise of something more made her both ecstatic and nauseated. Goodness. Was this what people warned about when they spoke of falling in love?

  When they reached the cozy room at the end of the hall, Fanny flung the door wide and stood aside for Amelia to enter. A fire roared in the grate, and the bed was piled high with pillows and a plush counterpane. A cup of chocolate and a few small sweet biscuits sat on a side table, waiting for consumption.

  Amelia nearly cried with relief. She would have been happy sleeping in the theatre—just somewhere warm with a place to lay her head down—but this was too much. The entire night felt like a wonderful dream and she prayed furtively that she wouldn’t wake from it.

  “Will there be anything else, miss?” Fanny asked, drawing Amelia back down to earth.

  “No, Fanny,” she said with grateful smile, and then remembered, “Oh! Please wake me early. I need to be in Covent Garden by nine o’clock.”

  It was obvious from the momentary look of curiosity that crossed Fanny’s face that she desperately wanted to know why in the world Amelia would need to be in Covent Garden so early in the morning. Amelia wasn’t about to torture the poor dear, so she told her.