Page 35 of Lord Appleby's Gorgeous Imposter
She pushed him away. “Stop. We must.”
He slowly let her go. His features, awash in confusion, turned stern. “I will not.”
“We have no future.” She rose and brushed at her skirts.Not with what I plan.
He shot to his feet. The look in his eyes grew dark with longing as he encircled her waist with both arms. “We can take it now. Our path to happiness is clear for the first time in our lives. I adore you, Vivienne. Since you were young, I laughed with you, was at once proud of you, who you were and what you were. And this—this imitation of your sister is nothing you can easily do and get away with, because you are and always have been a terrible liar.”
“You are wrong.”
“I will prove it. Tomorrow morning,” he said as he straightened his waistcoat and shot his cuffs, “we take our ride. Afterward we visit rue du Four.”
He strode toward the door, then faced her. “We will face the past. Then we will see what the man who follows you thinks of that.”
He knew about that man who stalked her! She opened her mouth to warn him off.
“Yes, I discovered him long ago, my darling. I have others following him to his den, wherever it is he hides. We will discover whom he works for. So we ride in security everywhere we go. Then, in hope for a brighter tomorrow afterward, we inspect rue du Four.”
She set her jaw and would have argued.
“But I will hear no more denial of what we are to each other. None.”
Chapter Eight
Her euphoria atTate’s declarations drifted away like the ripples in the Seine. She watched the river rush past as she took her town coach to the theater late that afternoon and admitted that she was overwhelmed with dread of what she now had to do.
Viv diverted herself with the task that had long eaten away at her. Now she must make haste. She had to prepare. Going to rue du Four was the first step.
She took the groom’s hand and nearly leapt from the coach in her haste. Louis was tucked under her arm, wiggling to be let down.
Alice harrumphed and scurried along behind her into the backstage entrance door. The English maid was rigid in her daily chores, and when it was late afternoon, she preferred to sit and nap. Today, Viv had other plans.
Her nerves had been a jumble since her encounter with Tate earlier. The house was dark tonight, but she decided to go to the theater to talk with the manager. She had one thing in particular to discuss with the man. He’d delayed doing her a favor, and though she did not need the service immediately, she would soon. Since she had kissed Tate, she had to hurry her actions, find her marks. His presence everywhere all the time told her of his dedication to following her and discovering her plans. She also had to dampen her delight that Tate had come looking forher last year—and kill her anger that Charmaine had not told him where she was.
Was that another example of Charmaine’s cruelty? Or had her sister been wise to deny Tate any knowledge of where she was? Viv went from one conclusion to the other.
By June of last spring, she and Charmaine had already decided on the outline of their plan. Viv was well on her way to impersonating her sister. She’d convinced the manager of the London theater where Charmaine had opened in a new production ofRomeo and Julietthat she was indeed the acclaimed star who was known for her ethereal French beauty. She’d also convinced him that she would disappear each night into her own world—and her solitude had to be complete.
Charmaine retired to the country with another name and a new maid. Viv was launched as the star who would accept the offer to return to Paris and appear in the land of her birth in a play by Molière.
“Good afternoon, Giselle,” Viv bade the house seamstress who sat at the rickety table near the backstage corridor. Alice trotted along behind her. “Is Monsieur Lamond in his office?”
The old woman raised her pinched gaze from the hem of a wine-red cloak she sewed. “Oui, mademoiselle. Il est ivre comme un putois.”
Drunk again?Why am I not surprised? “Merci, Giselle. You need more light to work on that cloak. Come, I will give you two more candles from my room.”
“Non, non. Ce n’est pas nécessaire, mademoiselle.”
“Itisnecessary, Giselle. We’ll do better than one candle. Come with me.” She hooked her arm through the old woman’s and lifted her up. The lady had a crooked posture and wobbled whenever she walked. If her feet and legs did not do well for her, neither did her weak eyes. She needed every bit of help she could get.
“Mademoiselle,s’il vous plaît. You go too fast for this old woman.”
“My apologies. Alice, will you take Giselle’s other arm and escort her to my room? Light all the candles for her. And yes, get Giselle’s mending and let her do it in my dressing room.”
Viv left them at the turn for Lamond’s hideaway. He liked to be invisible. Actors, he claimed, wanted the moon, and he had only stardust to give. A frustrated thespian, the man gave speeches worthy of a candidate for prime minister. Viv had seen many in her day try for public office and counted them better actors than many she’d seen on stage.
Sidestepping the coiled ropes and stage furniture piled on top of the other, she maneuvered through the close hall to the back wall. At the left was a makeshift old door, which she rapped upon. “Monsieur Lamond?”
“Go away.”
