Page 34 of Temptress in Disguise
His wife had heard him battling his demons as he slept, waging a war he never won. But what of her nightmares? They amounted to more than being defrauded out of her inheritance. What villainy disturbed her repose?
He was determined to find out.
ChapterEight
The Belldrake Theatre
Bedford Street, Covent Garden
Aramis stood watching her, studying her intently as they waited in the dank alley at the Belldrake’s rear entrance. Ever since she’d mentioned fleeing Hartford Hall, his eyes had burned with curiosity. It was only a matter of time before he asked the question Naomi dreaded. Before he wanted to know why she woke upon hearing the faint creak of the boards, why she lay awake in the darkness, her terrified gaze scanning the shadows.
He hammered the stage door with his fist for the third time in as many minutes. “You’re sure someone will be here at this hour?”
“Yes. If they plan to stage the play tonight, there’s much to do.” She stood on tiptoes, wiped dust from the small viewing window and peered through the pane. The dim corridor was deserted. “We should try the front door, though I doubt anyone will hear us from the auditorium.”
“As patience isn’t amongst my many virtues,” he began with some amusement, “I’ve a mind to kick down the door.”
She looked at the formidable man she’d married, who only last night proved he could be surprisingly gentle. “That’s why we make such an excellent team. There’s an easier way to enter the premises. One that affords the element of surprise.”
He grinned. “You certainly know how to surprise a man. Who knew you could leave a rogue breathless after one kiss?”
Her heart fluttered at the memory of their passionate clinch above the bookshop. Kissing amounted to nothing more than the touching of lips. Yet when Aramis claimed her mouth, every cell in her body sprang to life.
“You’re not a rogue. You’re honest and have principles. You just scare everyone with your short temper.”
“Everyone except you.”
Why was that? Mr Ingram had left her shaking like shutters in a storm. “I’ve always been an oddity.” Lydia had said so many times.
“You’re not an oddity. You’re unique.”
Her breath caught in her throat. She met his gaze, unsure if he was teasing her or being sincere. “In a good way?”
His tongue grazed his bottom lip. “In an extremely good way.”
“Have a care. Kind men are rarely considered dangerous.”
He clasped his hand to his heart. “I trust you won’t tell anyone.”
“A wife must be loyal to her husband.”
She would rather spend the day exchanging compliments than questioning Mr Kendrick. But the fear of being framed for murder had kept her awake most of the night. And so, she led Aramis to the Belldrake’s modest entrance and beckoned Mr Gibbs to join them. The coachman hauled his heavy frame down from the black unmarked carriage and crossed the street.
“I believe you’re skilled at unlocking doors, Mr Gibbs.”
The man studied the lock. “I presume you’ve tried knocking.”
“Indeed. Mr Chance is keen to rip it off its hinges, but I’d rather not attract undue attention.”
Mr Gibbs reached into his greatcoat and removed a ring of strange metal objects. “If anyone asks, it was open.”
They sheltered him while he crouched beside the lock, springing the mechanism in seconds. He didn’t wait to open the theatre door for her but trudged across the street back to the carriage.
Upon entering the building, they paused in the small foyer. Three staircases led in different directions: one to the circle, another to the stalls, and one to the refreshment room where lords often surrounded Lydia after the performance and showered her with compliments and champagne.
The muffled sound of conversation reached Naomi’s ears, along with the thud of something heavy hitting the boards. Mr Kendrick’s frustrated cry followed, as did a command for Matilda to recite the line again.
Naomi led her husband along the red-carpeted corridor and through a set of double doors into the auditorium. Mr Kendrick stood on a box in the orchestra pit, his purple banyan billowing as he jabbed a silver-topped walking cane at a snivelling Matilda, standing alone on the stage.
