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Chapter Three

Eden Hurst was pacing like one of the caged lions at the Tower. No, Maude silently corrected herself. Those animals were confined behind bars. However menacing they looked, with the muscles bunching under their sleek hides and the flash of white fangs, they were impotent.

This man was free. This man made things happen, just as she had sensed he would. He turned from checking a ledger someone had handed him and Maude moved back between the flats, stumbling slightly over the grooves they ran in. The paperwork dismissed, Hurst strode to the front of the stage and began a highly technical discussion with someone invisible in the pit about the placing of the instrumental players to achieve a certain required effect.

He had discarded his coat and rolled up his sleeves. There was no sign of last night’s exaggerated tailoring, unless one counted the very whiteness of the linen shirt that made his skin even more golden in contrast and the expensive cut of his pantaloons and waistcoat. There were no diamonds in his ear today, just the ring to give emphasis when he swept a hand down in a gesture to reinforce his orders.

Maude found her eyes fixed on the point where his waistcoat had been laced at the small of his back, emphasising the balance between broad shoulders and narrow waist, slim hips and long legs.

Now he put his fists on his hips and leaned back to stare up into the gods to where a hand was shouting a query. The line of his throat was that of a Greek statue, she thought.

‘Extraordinarily beautiful animal, isn’t he?’ a dispassionate male voice asked, just by her ear.

Maude felt herself colouring: she could hardly deny to herself how she had been looking at him. ‘Mr Hurst appears very fit,’ she said repressively, turning to find one of the walking gentlemen at her elbow.

‘I’m not interested in him that way, you understand,’ the man continued, still watching his employer through narrowed eyes. Maude tried to appear sophisticated and unshocked at the suggestion he might be interested. ‘I just wish I could move like that. I watch and watch, but I’m damned if I can get it. New, are you? Nice gown, by the way. My name’s Tom Gates, walking gentleman and hopeful juvenile lead if that clot Merrick upsets the apple cart.’

Maude regarded him with some interest. He looked about twenty-one, but from a distance, with make-up, she could see he could easily pass for a lad of seventeen. ‘Thank you, it is one of my favourite gowns. I’m sure you’d make a very good juvenile lead. Is Mr Merrick prone to trouble, then?’

‘He will be if he doesn’t stop lifting La Golding’s skirts,’ Tom confided frankly. ‘Either Susan Poole will run him through with a hat pin or the guv’nor will have his balls for making trouble in the cast. What’s your line, then? Too classy to be a walking lady, I’d have said.’

‘I am not an actress, I’m an investor,’ Maude explained, watching the blood drain from the young man’s face as he realised his faux pas. ‘I am early for a business meeting with Mr Hurst.’

‘Oh. My. God.’ He smote his forehead dramatically. ‘Should I go and pack my bags now, do you think? Let me see, have I remembered everything I said that you’ll be complaining about?’

‘Lady Maude. Gates? Be so good as to explain what will cause her ladyship to complain to me.’ Eden Hurst was standing right behind them, his expression one of polite interest. Maude thought that it was just how a shark would look before sampling one’s leg.

‘Good morning, Mr Hurst. There is absolutely nothing to be concerned over. I arrived somewhat early and Mr Gates has been so helpful in explaining things, but he seems conscience-stricken because he forgot to address me by my title. I do not regard it at all.’ She shared a sweet smile between both men. Gates shot her a look of adoring thanks, Mr Hurst merely raised one eyebrow in a manner calculated to infuriate anyone else who could not manage the same trick.

‘I’ll get your coat, Guv’nor.’ Gates shot across the stage like a retriever and returned with the garment, brushing it assiduously. His complexion had returned to normal.

‘Thank you. Have refreshments sent to my office.’ Hurst took her arm. ‘Alone again, Lady Maude?’

‘My maid is waiting in the Green Room.’ Maude had left Anna there, wide-eyed in anticipation of witnessing some of the scandalous behaviour she was convinced must go on in such a wicked place. So far, Maude imagined she had been seriously disappointed. The language might be colourful, but everyone was focused totally on their work. Mr Hurst ran a tight ship.

‘I will leave the door open, then.’ He showed her in, gesturing to the chair she had sat in the night before.

‘Why? Do you fear you may be unable to restrain your animal impulses again, Mr Hurst?’ Maude sat and placed a folder of papers on the desk.

Behind her the door shut with a sharp click. She pursed her lips to restrain the smile; it was part of her strategy to keep Eden Hurst on edge and she did appear to be undermining that control, just a little. ‘I was not failing, Lady Maude, and I was not acting upon impulse. I fully intended to do what I did. I always do.’

‘Excellent. So do I. And I prefer to keep my personal business confidential, so do, please, leave the door shut.’

She waited, hands folded demurely in her lap while he circled the desk and sat down on his sorcerer’s throne. He steepled his fingers, elbows on the carved arms, and regarded her in silence. The light from the window was behind him, no doubt intentionally. Maude, who had trained in the hard school of the Almack’s patronesses, waited, outwardly unruffled. Inwardly her stomach was executing acrobatics that would have impressed at Astley’s Amphitheatre.

‘In what way may I help you, Lady Maude?’

She felt she had scored a point by not babbling to fill the silence. She wanted to babble. She wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to climb into that big chair and curl up against him. ‘By moving my chair to the side of your desk, Mr Hurst. I dislike holding a conversation with someone whose face I cannot see.’

Without a word he got to his feet, came round the desk again, waited for her to rise and then moved the chair. ‘Here?’ How many people challenged him on his own ground? Would it impress him or merely irritate?

‘Excellent, thank you.’ Unasked, he moved her papers too, then shifted his chair so he could face her.

‘I wish to invest in the Unicorn, Mr Hurst.’

‘Indeed.’ Damn him, he might at least look faintly surprised. How many unmarried ladies did he have coming in offering him money? ‘And what makes you think I require investors, ma’am?’

‘I have heard some gossip to that effect and I should imagine all theatres need funds. And Miss Corwin tells me her father is thinking of investing with you.’ His mouth twisted wryly for a second, whether at the thought of Miss Corwin or of her father, Maude was not certain.

‘And what does your father think of this, might I ask?’

‘I have not discussed it with him as yet. Mr Hurst, I am five and twenty and I have had control of my own money for some time.’ An exaggeration—it was only since last year, in fact, when Papa had recognised that withholding control of it was not going to force her into the marriage with Gareth Morant, Lord Standon.

A gallant man would have exclaimed in surprise at her claiming such advanced years. It surprised Maude herself sometimes to realise how old she was and to acknowledge that most people would consider her almost on the shelf. Eden Hurst made no reference to her age at all. Now, was that galling or refreshing?

‘I have always been interested in the theatre, so this seemed an obvious thing to do. I am not intending to overcommit myself, I realise this is a risky business, however well run.’ That earned her an inclination of his head. Still no smile. The shark appeared to be circling, perhaps puzzled about what kind of prey had swum into its territory.

‘You have been a leading light in country-house amateur theatricals, no doubt, Lady Maude?’ The way he said her name made her swallow hard, every time. It was difficult to define just why. Something about the deep voice, perhaps, the touch of mockery she sensed behind the respectful address. Or was it just that she was so close and they were, at long last, talking?

‘I cannot act for toffee,’ she admitted with a smile. ‘As my family and friends always point out to me. No, my strengths lie in writing and producing dramas.’

‘Well, you are not writing or producing any in my theatre, let us be quite clear about that.’ So, the first sign of hackles rising. She was reminded of prints she had seen of Italian Renaissance princes, hard, handsome, elegant men staring out at the watcher in their pride and their power. Or perhaps, as those dark eyes narrowed and the sensual line of his mouth thinned, he was not an earthly prince, but one of the Devil’s henchmen.

Yes, the Unicorn was very much Eden Hurst’s theatre. ‘I do not wish to, not here—I am quite clear about the differences between amateur and professional theatre. I propose investing a sum of money. Our respective men of business can assess it as a percentage of the value of the business and I will thereafter take the appropriate share of the profits.’

‘Or losses.’

‘Or losses,’ she agreed equably. He had lowered his hands and now each curved over the lion masks at the end of the chair arms. He had big hands, she noticed, with long, elegant fingers. The well-kept nails contrasted with bruises and cuts on the backs of his hands, presumably from handling scenery. The contrast between strength and sensitivity was somehow arousing. Those were the fingers that had held her helpless with such negligent ease. Maude dragged her eyes away.

‘So you do allow a man of business to act for you?’

‘Of course. I believe in employing experts as I need them. Well? Does my proposal interest you?’

He did not answer her question directly. ‘And what involvement will you require?’

‘To see the books. To visit behind the scenes and watch rehearsals. To discuss policy and to put forward my ideas. But hardly to direct policy—you are the owner of the Unicorn, after all.’

There was a tap at the door and it swung open to reveal a large tea tray dwarfing the young woman who carried it. ‘I’ve raided Madame’s best tea, Guv’nor. Tom Gates said to make an effort.’

‘Thank you, Millie. I am sure you have.’ He waited until the door closed again. ‘Perhaps you would care to pour, Lady Maude.’

He waited while Maude busied herself with the tea things, then settled back, his cup unregarded on the desk. ‘How much, exactly, are you proposing to invest?’

She had given it a great deal of thought. Enough to make him take her seriously and to give her an entrée to the theatre and its management. Enough to give her every excuse to enter into his professional life on a regular basis. But not so much she would seem foolish or rash. Maude flipped open her folder and slid a paper across the table. ‘That much.’

There was silence for a long moment. Eden Hurst picked up the sheet and tapped it thoughtfully on the desk. ‘A not insignificant sum.’

‘I am a wealthy woman, Mr Hurst. That is the maximum that will be available. I do not regard this as a frivolous amusement to be pouring money into, you understand.’

‘I do. And you calculated your investment on your understanding of the value of a theatre I own.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I am afraid your research was not thorough enough, Lady Maude. I am not the owner of the Unicorn.’

‘You are not?’ He watched with interest the effect surprise had upon her. Those delicately arched brows shot up, a faint groove appeared between them. Then he saw her begin to think and speculate, the big brown eyes alive with intelligence. ‘It belongs to Madame Marguerite?’

‘No. I have to confess I have no idea who owns it. I deal with their agents, I pay the rent, I observe the lease conditions and I am met with a very polite refusal when I ask to meet their principal.’

‘How very mysterious.’ Another expression, one of lively curiosity, flitted across her face. That lovely visage was as easy to read as a book, but only, he suspected, when she wanted it to be. He was convinced that last night, after he had kissed her, her feelings were far from being reflected in her expression. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if she used that openness as a weapon to make him underestimate her.

Her dazzling smile took him by surprise. ‘Well, then, Mr Hurst, we must buy it.’

‘What? The Unicorn? We must?’

‘Can you afford it alone?’ This was frank speaking indeed. Eden contemplated snubbing her by loftily remarking that he had no intention of discussing his financial position with her, then caught himself. He was enjoying this meeting. There was no one he could discuss business with, not on equal terms. Madame merely wanted to know if there was sufficient money to maintain her lifestyle; his banker and his solicitor expected only to take orders and to offer advice when asked.

The small circle of men he admitted to anything approaching friendship were either too interested in his business for comfort if they were from the merchant class or completely uninterested if they were gentlemen. He had become used to taking all decisions alone, arguing problems out with himself.

And now here was, of all things, a young lady. Bright-eyed, confident, interested and quite unabashed at being alone with a man, speaking of things ladies were simply not expected to understand. And, miracle of miracles, she did not simper, she did not wheedle and she most certainly did not try to cajole.

Eden smiled. Lady Maude blushed, which was unexpected. Hastily he resumed a straight face. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was flirting with her. Not after last night. ‘No,’ he responded frankly. ‘I cannot afford to buy it alone just now. At least, not without committing myself more than is prudent.’

‘And are you always prudent, Mr Hurst?’ There was a laugh lurking in her eyes. Was she thinking about last night? He wished he was not, it was too damn uncomfortable.

‘With money, yes,’ he admitted and the answering smile made the corner of her eyes crinkle. Yes, she had been thinking about last night. So why had she blushed earlier?

Eden was used, without vanity, to women reacting strongly to his looks, although he saw to it that they never got close enough to him emotionally to react to the man behind that handsome face. His appearance was nothing to be proud of, in his opinion. He owed his looks to the father who had refused to have anything to do with him. As for the rest, he took care of his body, exercised hard and spent more than he needed on his clothes.

But Lady Maude was not flirting. She had reacted to his kiss with a mixture of innocence and appreciation that was arousing, yet her response afterwards had been that of an assured young matron and now… Now he had no idea how to read her. Which ought to be infuriating, not intriguing.

He realised that he must have been silent, thinking, for over a minute. Unperturbed, Lady Maude had opened her portfolio and was scribbling energetically. When she saw he was back with her she smiled, the uncomplicated smile of a friend. ‘I will need to rework these figures, for I am sure my banker will tell me I should not invest so much if you do not own the Unicorn. It is very vexing—you must press for information about the owner.’

‘I have tried; it is not going to be forthcoming.’

She sent him a look that said clearly that he had not exerted himself sufficiently in the matter. She was wrong. Ever since he was fourteen he had wanted his own theatre. Not a little provincial playhouse, but a significant, fashionable, demanding theatre to satisfy the longing that had entered him the first time he had set foot on a stage, the sense that he had come home. He had found the Unicorn and had known that this was love and that this was the only passion he could, or would, ever trust. But he could not speak of that to a near-stranger, or try and justify an emotion he only half-understood himself.

‘Lady Maude, have you considered what Lord Pangbourne is going to say when he knows what you are doing?’

‘Of course. He said I was old enough to make my own mistakes with my own money.’ She hesitated, her eyes sliding away from his. ‘Some time ago…he wanted me to marry someone; he had wanted it for years, in fact. Neither the gentleman nor I wished for it and things became—’ she broke off, searching for a word ‘—complicated, before Papa understood how things were. He has always been somewhat unconventional in his attitude to women’s education and freedoms. What happened has made him somewhat indulgent in many ways.’

So, not only was she intelligent, but she was also strong enough to stand up to parental pressure over her marriage. And now, at twenty-five, the Marriage Mart would consider her on the shelf, or almost so. Or was the daughter of an earl, wealthy in her own right, ever on the shelf? Perhaps she had grounds for her confidence.

‘He may be indulgent about how you invest your money, but he is not going to be so if he knows you are alone with me in my office, is he?’

That appeared to amuse her. ‘Do you imagine he will call you out, Mr Hurst?’

‘I imagine he will want to horsewhip me. I am not, after all, a gentleman, and therefore would not merit a challenge.’

Maude looked at him, her eyes wide and steady. ‘Yes, you are, in every way that counts. Or I would not be here.’

Her certainty knocked the breath out of him. He was accepted, to a point, in society as an intelligent, personable exotic. He could imagine the reaction if he so much as flirted with one of the young ladies on the Marriage Mart. And they, he was quite certain, would have had him pointed out by their mamas as completely ineligible, if not dangerous. Yet Lady Maude appeared to have no such scruples.

‘I will speak to my man of business tomorrow and amend my figures,’ she continued. ‘Would it be convenient to call in a few days’ time?’

‘I should not—’ He meant to say, I should not be doing business with you, but it came out differently. ‘I should not expect you to come here. Could I not meet you at his office? It would be safer, surely?’

‘For whom?’ she enquired, suddenly very much Lady Maude and not the unconventional young woman conducting her own negotiations. ‘I feel quite safe. Are you frightened of something?’

Eden drew in a deep breath, ignored the interestingly unsafe suggestions his body was making. ‘For myself, I fear nothing and nobody, Lady Maude.’ He let a chill harden his voice. He could not act, had never wanted to, but he had grown up surrounded by good actors and learned a trick or two. When he wanted to, he could intimidate and he found that useful.

Her lashes swept down to hide her thoughts, and he thought he had shaken her. Then she lifted her eyes and murmured, ‘Good. I will hold you to that.’ She closed her portfolio and got to her feet, smiling with ladylike composure as he rose to open the door. ‘I will send a note and come back here next week to discuss how to proceed.’

‘You will attend the first night of our new play?’

‘On Monday? I am looking forward to it. You will be putting on a ballet and a farce for the intervening nights, I assume?’

‘Yes. Trifling things, but I do not care to have the theatre dark.’ He looked down at her and knew he had to take control of this situation, whatever it was. ‘Lady Maude. Unless you tell Lord Pangbourne of your intentions, I must decline to discuss this matter further with you.’

For a moment he thought she would admit defeat and did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed. ‘You make terms, Mr Hurst?’ she asked, her face unreadable.

‘That is what businessmen do.’

She stood there, one hand in its tight kid glove resting on the door frame, quite clearly thinking. ‘Mr Hurst, do you want me to take my money and go away?’

‘It would be safer for your reputation and it would certainly make life simpler,’ he said honestly.

‘That is not what I asked you,’ she said, managing to look down her nose at him, a considerable feat considering their respective heights.

‘No,’ Eden said, surprising himself. ‘No, I do not want you to go away. After all, I have so little in my life to worry about as it is. You will doubtless be the grit in my oyster.’ She glared in response to his sarcasm. To his horror he found himself thinking about kissing her face back into smiles. ‘But I mean it. Tell Lord Pangbourne before this goes any further. I want your word on it.’

‘My word, Mr Hurst?’ Her chin came up as she gathered her skirts in one hand. ‘You have it, sir. Good day to you.’