Parting the Veil by Paulette Kennedy
CHAPTER 10
The Grand Theatre stood as stalwart as a brick castle on a plaza surrounded by lavish rose gardens, their fragrance cloyingly sweet. Malcolm circled his creaking, poorly sprung trap around the drive, then handed Eliza down. It was a balmy night, and as they made their way toward the lighted marquee, he plucked a white rose from one of the shrubs and tucked it into her coiled hair with a winsome smile. The long queue advanced quickly, and as they neared the ticket window, Eliza admired the image of Sarah Bernhardt on the playbill pinned out front. The photograph showed the actress in a lace-trimmed gown, her Gallic features accented by a mane of crimped dark hair. The play was Camille.
“Two tickets for the loge, please,” Malcolm said, palming pound notes toward the clerk.
“I’m afraid we’re sold out, sir,” the young man said, scratching beneath the brim of his round cap. “The curtain’s about to open to a packed house. Miss Bernhardt is here for one night only, you see.”
Malcolm’s lip twitched. “Most unfortunate.”
“My apologies, sir.”
Malcolm reached into his pocket. Eliza caught a glint of something metallic and shining in his hand. He slipped it beneath the opening. The clerk quickly swept it into his lap. “I suppose there are two seats available in the balcony, after all. Go around back. My mate’ll be by the stage door and he’ll take you to your seats. Enjoy the show.”
“What did you give him?” Eliza asked.
“Only an old watch chain I meant to pawn, darling. Sometimes one must add a bit of encouragement to get things done, eh?”
As they went around the building, a uniformed usher waved by the rear door. “Come this way, sir, madam. One of our patrons has a vacant box tonight. If anyone asks, I’ll say you’re his guests.”
They followed the usher up a set of carpeted steps and down a hallway. He parted a red velvet curtain and Eliza and Malcolm ducked inside just as the house lights began to flicker. Below, the theatre was teeming with people dressed in varying degrees of finery. Eliza glimpsed Una Moseley’s high, gleaming coiffure in the seats facing the orchestra. Before Eliza could look away, their eyes met for a moment. Una smirked and whispered something to her companion, who erupted in a fit of laughter. Eliza threw them an overly friendly smile and raised her gloved hand in greeting. Una only scowled and flicked open her fan.
“I saw that,” Malcolm said as they took their seats. “You should know it doesn’t bother me. I’m rather used to it after all this time.” He motioned toward the audience below, where the other latecomers were greeting one another with presses of the hand and cheek. “Their shunning is the least of my concerns.”
“Well, I don’t like it.” Eliza gripped the curved railing, clenching her teeth. “It’s incredibly rude. You’re a peer of the realm and they should show deference.”
Malcolm laughed. “You’ll have to grow used to it if you aim to be seen in public with me.”
The lights flickered once more, then faded to black as the scarlet curtain parted. A rush of poignant music ascended to the arched ceiling of the theatre, and Eliza brought her opera glasses up in anticipation as the cast strode onto the stage. The play was an engaging one, with many dramatic moments. Halfway through the second act, after they’d finished a magnum of champagne, Malcolm took her hand in his and held it throughout the rest of the play, sending a wave of ardor through her.
After the final act, Eliza found herself weeping for the tragic Camille, played so regally by Miss Bernhardt. She and Malcolm gave their ovations, then went out to take the air in the garden. Her head was teeming with amorous thoughts as Malcolm drew her into a cloistered arbor crawling with scarlet, cherry-scented roses. He removed her opera glove and brought her hand to his face, nuzzling his cheek against her wrist, his lips cool and soft as he kissed the place where her pulse beat like the wings of a hummingbird.
“Eliza,” he whispered. “It’s madness to confess my feelings when we’ve known one another for so little time. But something in your manner speaks to me . . . I find I am stirred by the most tender and passionate feelings when I am in your presence. I won’t consider being parted from you.”
“Nor will I,” Eliza said breathlessly. “I’ve been drawn to you from the first moment I saw you.”
“Will you put away your other suitors, then, and see only me?”
“On my word, I already have. Lord Eastleigh was the only other.”
Malcolm’s face grew sharp as a blade. Eliza drew back, a small gasp escaping her lips at the sudden change in his demeanor. “Blasted Eastleigh,” he spat. “I should have known he’d come panting round your door.”
“I carry no fondness for him. I swear it, Malcolm.”
“Eastleigh is a wicked, wicked man, my darling. Trust that. I cannot promise an easy time of it when I declare my intentions publicly, but I’m quite ready to take him on.”
“Then let him try to stop this. Let him try to stop us.” Eliza brushed her thumb over Malcolm’s mouth, tracing his lower lip, then rested her thumb in the sculpted hollow beneath. He sighed, his momentary rancor dissolving under her touch. A rushing sound filled Eliza’s head against the muzziness of the champagne. His mouth was mere inches from her own. “I have never wanted to kiss someone as much as I’d like to kiss you,” she murmured. “Won’t you kiss me, Malcolm?”
His lips found her own in the darkness with a sweet, questioning hesitancy that set her knees trembling. She wrapped her arms around his neck, rising up on tiptoe as he deepened their kiss. His tongue tasted of crisp champagne and cinnamon, his breath hot against her skin as his lips left her mouth and trailed down her neck. “Yes,” she whispered. She pressed her hips against his and felt the wildness of his desire for her there. Mon Dieu, how she wanted him. How quickly he had unmoored her feelings! How on earth could this be wrong when every nerve in her body quickened to his touch?
“Eliza . . . we must stop,” he said suddenly, pulling back. His eyes shone like twin jewels. “If we do not, I will be overcome.” He rested his forehead against her own, his breath coming in short gasps. “I should see you home. Your sister . . .”
“Will be fine,” Eliza said, her body radiating warmth. “I’m twenty-five, Malcolm. A grown woman.” She drew in a breath. “And it’s time I told you—no virgin. I crave you, in the most carnal and natural of ways.”
“In all my scandalous thoughts, I have never imagined you a shy maiden, darling.” He chuckled, his hands running along her back, tracing the seam of her dress. “You’re giving me the most tempting fodder for my dreams . . . and I shall dream well tonight. But you’ve had far too much champagne, and the sort of day that makes one’s senses unsteady.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll return you to your sister and your own bed, with much reluctance, but with an ardently settled heart.”
Eliza stumbled through the front door of Sherbourne House, giddy from Malcolm’s kisses, her earlier tears forgotten. Lydia met her at the door, her lips tightly drawn, her dressing gown tied in a loose knot. “How was the play?” she asked.
“It was wonderful!” Eliza removed her wrap and hung it in the cloakroom, then pulled out her combs, her scalp smarting as her hair tumbled free. “Tragic at the end, but Bernhardt really is as divine as they all say. We’ll have to go together when she comes back through.”
“You smell of his cologne.”
Eliza laughed. “And?”
Lydia rolled her eyes. “I turned the final card in your spread. Don’t you want to know what it was?”
“Oh. I’d forgotten all about our reading. It didn’t go badly, I hope?”
Lydia pulled the worn tarot card from her pocket and handed it to Eliza. She turned it over and her belly lurched. Against all rational explanation, despite her earlier subversion, the Tower card lay in her hand—the falling bodies, the flames, and the forked tongue of lightning flashing through an ink-dark sky, promising peril and ruin.