Page 53 of Miss Dramatic
Was the whole sorry business some sort of joke? A misunderstanding? A combination of the two?
“I don’t like it,” Gavin said. “You were hurt and insulted, and I was furious.”
“You were hurt too.”
He hugged her. “Devastated, but allow me the fig leaf of outrage.”
“Then I was outraged too.”
His hands went to her shoulders. “The other guests were busy with their own intrigues. That leaves staff and the theater company, but the staff hadn’t a small fortune to waste on a nasty whim.”
“So somebody among Drysdale’s Players didn’t want you forming an attachment to me.”
“Or somebody among the other guests—who were more likely to have spare coin—didn’t want you forming an attachment to me.”
The idea that she and Gavin had been manipulated made Rose bilious. “What did it matter to Drysdale if you developed a fondness for me? Actors are not exactly rarities. He hired you; he has probably hired a handsome young fellow every few years. The better talent moves on to London, Dublin, or Edinburgh and must be replaced.”
Even as a part of her mind began reviewing the guest list—as best she recalled it—Rose’s body was very aware that she was wrapped around a naked Gavin DeWitt, whom she’d missed very much and who hadnever played her false.
“The situation wants thought,” Gavin said, kissing her on the mouth. “Calm, logical thought. A systematic—Rose, what are you about?”
She brushed her thumb over his nipple. “We can think later, and we will. For now, I am too happy to untangle plots and point fingers at villains.”
“That is not my finger pointing at you.”
“I know. I left you no money, you never sought payment. We are entitled to make up for lost time, Gavin.”
She couldhearhim smiling in the dark. “A lot of lost time. Kiss me.”
She kissed him, and more than kissed him, and got in two good naps before an insistent robin woke her. Gavin was already dressed and munching a biscuit, and a hint of gray light framed the gazebo’s window on the Twid.
“Do not,” he said sternly, “look at me like that.” He held out the biscuit. “We’ll have to make a dash for the side door as it is.”
Rose sat up and scooted to the edge of the cot. “Will you skip your ride this morning?” The biscuit was good—buttery and cinnamon-y.
“Not a chance. Roland needs the gallop, and I think best on horseback. We have a deal of thinking to do, Rose. Another biscuit?”
“Are there more?”
“And cider. I put the canteen in the river about an hour ago. It should be coolish.” He passed over a flask. “I left the sandwiches for the beasts.”
He would. “You are different this morning.”
“Happier, more at peace, and exceedingly determined. Your biscuits.” He passed over two.
“Perhaps we should let sleeping dogs lie, Gavin. Maybe the money was a prank gone awry, a bet between the bachelors I was ignoring.” How could he look so damnably delectable with his hair tousled, his shirt unbuttoned, and his eyes shadowed with fatigue?
He collected his stockings and boots. “Do you believe that?”
Rose ate her biscuits and took a mental inventory. “Gemma Drysdale might have been speaking in the general case about remuneration for services rendered. Another guest might have been pranking you. Somebody in the theater company could have been making a nasty statement about our liaison, but you say you were paid a goodly sum. That speaks to malice and an agenda.”
“You didn’t notice the money in your jewelry box?” He rose and shrugged into his waistcoat, doing up a few buttons.
“I rarely open my jewelry box. Timmens selects what I’m to wear, and she likely thought I’d had a good night at whist.”
Gavin held out a hand. “Thatgood?”
Rose stood with his assistance and allowed herself to hug him. “Timmens believes the Quality are all prone to vice and venery. She has no frame of reference for polite gaming stakes. I had some money with me for travel expenses and vails. One pile of coins looks very like another.”
