Page 63 of A Widow for the Earl
“Close your eyes,” she instructed.
Vincent pulled a face. “I am not going to do that.”
“Youmust, Wilds. Close your eyes and trust me for a moment,” she said in earnest, her heart pounding frantically in her chest.
Maybe it was the mild madness in her eyes, maybe it was an act of generosity, maybe he was just eager to get it over with, but Vincent puffed out a breath and nodded. “Very well.” He closed his eyes. “If there are obstacles in there to trip me, I shall not be pleased.”
“I shall guide you with the utmost care,” she promised, as she opened the door and led him through.
Keeping tight hold of his hand, she stood flush against his side, stealing a sneaky glance up at him. He looked surprisingly serene with his eyes closed, his mouth slightly quirked in that same bewildered smile.
How handsome you are…She took a moment to admire his lips, absently wondering what itwouldbe like to be kissed by them.
“Can I open them now?” he asked, his tone impatient.
“A few moments more,” she replied, snapping out of it.
Refusing to be distracted again, she focused on the spacious room and the neatly arranged rugs that marked out the ‘auditorium.’ There were no chairs as of yet, but that could be resolved when she had an actual audience.
Blushing as she touched Vincent’s side and the middle of his back, feeling the muscle ripple beneath his tailcoat, she positioned him in the center of where the audience would sit. She let her hand stay on his back a moment longer, as she assessed the view, needing it to be perfect.
“Wait just one more moment,” she urged, reluctantly letting go of him.
For the full effect, she needed the drapes to be closed, mimicking the darkness of true night. Jittery with excitement, she hurried over to the windows, drew the curtains, and looked back once more. The footlights wereperfectagainst that sheen of black velvet, the mood gloriously spooky. All she needed was Banquo’s ghost to appear on stage, and she would have collapsed with the joy of it.
“You can look,” she declared breathlessly.
But what if he hates it?She had not thought of that.
“Goodness…” was all he said, as he stood silhouetted by the hazy glow from the stage. Rather like an apparition himself. A very handsome, not at all unwelcome one.
She approached with caution. “Do you like it?”
“I… am not certain what I am looking at,” he replied with a stiff laugh. “It does not resemble any stage I have seen before.”
“Exactly!” she crowed, clapping her hands. “This is to be the Crypt Theater. A place where the veil between worlds is thinnest, where the forces of good and evil wage war, where creatures of myth and legend are so close you could touch them, where you leave wondering if you have just spent a few hours in a different realm entirely.”
He glanced down at her, his eyes shining in the gloom. “Pardon?”
“You remember my séance?”
He nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“Well, imagine that as a performance to astound and mystify,” she said eagerly, her excitement rising afresh. “Imagine if peoplecouldenter a different world, just for the length of a specially designed play. One where the audience is as much a part of the performance as the thespians.”
He looked mildly horrified, even in the dim light. “I think that would see us cast out of society as heretics and occultists. We would never be able to show our faces again.”
That did not sound so terrible to Beatrice, but she could see that Vincent needed a different kind of convincing. Indeed, for reasons she could not explain, she really wanted him to love this as much as her.
“Do you know what the most popular periodicals are?” she said bluntly.
He shook his head. “I have not the faintest idea.”
“They are stories that are controversial in society. They are stories that young ladies must stuff down the back of armchairs, so they are not found by prim parents,” she said, bursting with enthusiasm. “They are stories of murderous brides and dreadful curses, swashbuckling captains and warrior damsels, secret lovers and deals with the devil. The young seek out what is thrilling, and the old cannot help but be curious, though they claim otherwise.”
For a time, Vincent stayed quiet, turning his attention back to the black velvet curtains and the sulfurous glow of the footlights. He tilted his head to one side, as if scrutinizing it. And the longer he took to give his opinion, the more Beatrice’s excitement became nerves instead.
“Beatrice, I must ask you a very serious question,” he said at last.
