Playing the Duke's Mistress (Historical) Read online

  Darius’s lip curled.

  The woman with whom Herbert was currently besotted entered the wood-panelled room first. He’d caught a glimpse of her with his cousin before. She wore a purple feather in her improbably golden hair and a low-cut dress that displayed her ample bosom to full effect.

  Beaming with pride, Herbert stepped forward. Beneath his sandy hair he’d never lost the plump round face of his childhood. He looked like an excited schoolboy holding an iced bun. ‘Darius, may I introduce Miss Mabel Coop.’

  ‘Your Grace,’ she said in an accent that made him wince. She swept low into a curtsy, displaying even more of her deep cleavage.

  Herbert’s eyes popped.

  ‘Charmed.’ For a moment Darius wondered if his cousin had gone mad. Could any man willingly contemplate a lifetime of listening to that voice?

  He turned to the other, taller woman who had entered the room.

  Darius frowned. The young woman’s face was simply covered in paint. Her cheeks were a bright red and she wore thick powder over what appeared to be a fresh complexion. Why did actresses get themselves up in such a fashion? He loathed such artifice.

  However, her garments were less showy than her friend’s. She wore a grey woollen cape and beneath it a dress of dark blue that only revealed the upper part of her décolletage. She was thin, too thin for his taste, although her collarbones, he noted, were particularly delicate.

  His eyes returned to her face. To his surprise she met his gaze with deep-blue eyes fringed with dark lashes. Her expression held a hint of humour, as though she was aware of his rapid assessment.

  Unexpectedly he experienced a flare of physical attraction. He suppressed it instantly.

  ‘I’m Miss Fairmont,’ she said after a moment, when it appeared Herbert was unable to wrest his attention from the charms of Miss Coop for long enough to perform introductions. Her voice was low and husky, with no discernible accent.

  ‘Eh, what?’ Herbert stammered. ‘So sorry, allow me to introduce you properly, Miss Fairmont, to my cousin, the Duke of Albury.’

  Darius inclined his head. ‘Delighted.’

  In reply she made a sketch of a curtsy.

  He frowned again. The young woman appeared to be well schooled in manners. Her curtsy held unexpected dignity. There was no flash of cleavage from her, but a dip with a straight back that would present well even at court. Yet the gesture held a challenge. It was not insolent, but showed a certain self-possession that spoke of independence.

  He watched as she removed her cloak and laid it on a chest by the door. Yes, much too thin, he thought, as she moved towards the table in the middle of the room, but her walk was elegant, almost mesmerising. She was nowhere near as obviously pretty as Miss Coop, yet it was she who held his attention.

  ‘Do sit,’ Herbert urged. ‘Supper will be brought momentarily.’

  Like a butler, he pulled out a chair for Miss Coop, who rewarded him with another flash of cleavage.

  Darius returned to his place at the head of the table, already set with a white cloth, plates and cutlery. Miss Fairmont sat at his right, Miss Coop at his left. From the left he smelled a floral fragrance, so strong it could spoil the bouquet of a good wine. From the right, to his relief, it was clear that Miss Fairmont seemed not to have doused herself in cheap scent. She sat with her back straight, her hands in her lap.

  ‘Would you care for some champagne, ladies?’ Herbert asked. He brandished a bottle from a melting bucket of ice.

  ‘Ooh, yes,’ said Miss Coop.

  Miss Fairmont shook her head. Darius also declined. Instead he poured a little more whisky into his glass from the bottle he’d ordered up earlier. He’d need it tonight, even if drinking whisky at dinner wasn’t the done thing. In such company he supposed it barely mattered, although he noticed Miss Fairmont gave his glass a perceptive glance.

  ‘I’ve ordered lobster,’ Herbert told Miss Coop as he shook out his napkin.

  She clapped her hands. ‘Oh, that’s my favourite, Herbie!’

  Pet name terms already, Darius thought grimly. Mentally he’d already estimated an amount to offer Miss Coop. He nudged the price up a few hundred pounds.

  ‘Do you care for lobster, too, Miss Fairmont?’ he asked the young woman seated to his right.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ she replied.

  ‘We’re always starving when we come off stage, aren’t we, Cally?’ Miss Coop giggled.

  ‘Well, it is hard work,’ Herbert said admiringly. ‘I say, you were very good tonight.’

  ‘I spoke two lines,’ Miss Coop said proudly.

  ‘You were marvellous. And so were you, Miss Fairmont,’ Herbert added hastily.

  Miss Fairmont smiled. It was an unaffected smile with no vanity in it, which was unexpected from an actress. ‘Thank you.’

  Darius gave her a sideways glance. Again she coolly met his gaze.

  ‘Did you have a speaking part, too?’ he enquired.

  Miss Coop squealed. ‘A speaking part? Calista has the main part!’

  Darius raised an eyebrow. ‘You do?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Miss Fairmont is quite famous,’ Herbert explained. ‘I thought you knew.’

  ‘My apologies,’ said Darius.

  ‘It’s quite all right.’ The corners of her mouth curved. ‘I wasn’t familiar with your name either.’

  He drew back.

  ‘I take it you’re not a theatregoer.’ She seemed unconcerned that he hadn’t heard of her. She didn’t pout or exclaim at his ignorance. Instead she reached for her glass of water and sipped. Her lips were pink and full.

  Darius shook his head. ‘I don’t care for play-acting, Miss Fairmont.’

  He became aware of her studying him as she replaced her glass on the table. Her head was lowered, but he sensed the acuteness of her dark-blue stare.

  ‘Miss Fairmont has played many roles of note,’ Herbert went on. ‘Juliet, Rosalind, Ophelia...’

  ‘And the fair penitent?’ Darius asked.

  Her head jerked up. ‘You recognise the source of my name. I thought you said you disliked the theatre.’

  ‘Not the theatre, Miss Fairmont.’ He glanced towards Miss Coop. ‘Play-acting is what I despise.’

  When she spoke, Miss Fairmont’s voice held a sharpness that brought him back to look at her. Her lips had tightened. ‘I understand.’

  Now he could sense her fragrance as heat reached her cheeks, making them even redder. The scent of her warm body reached him, too, along with the faintest waft of lavender from her hair.

  ‘I don’t understand!’ Miss Coop exclaimed. ‘What on earth are you two talking about?’

  ‘My name, Mabel,’ Miss Fairmont replied swiftly. ‘It comes from a play by Rowe, called The Fair Penitent.’

  ‘The main male part is Lothario, I believe,’ Darius drawled.

  ‘The seducer of women, yes,’ she flashed back in reply. ‘The kind of man who sees all women in one light.’

  ‘I told you my cousin was clever,’ Herbert said proudly to Mabel.

  ‘You did, Herbie.’ She beamed at him.

  ‘Perhaps he isn’t as clever as he thinks,’ said Miss Fairmont.

  Her head was held high, revealing the bird-like shape of her collarbones and her long neck. Darius was reminded, suddenly, of a swan that glided on the lake at his country home. It had bitten him, once.

  Herbert looked from one to the other. ‘I say, what’s the matter?’

  ‘Is something wrong, Cally?’ Miss Coop asked.

  ‘We’re here under false pretences, Mabel,’ the actress said with scorn. ‘For all his contempt of play-acting, the duke has turned in a fine performance.’

  Mabel Coop’s hand went to her bosom. ‘Herbie, what does she mean?’


  ‘I’ve not the faintest notion,’ Herbert replied, slack-jawed.

  ‘Ask your cousin to explain,’ Miss Fairmont said.

  There was a scratch at the door and suddenly two of the inn’s servants entered, bearing aloft silver-domed platters. They laid them on the table.

  ‘Leave the lids,’ Darius ordered when one of them made to begin serving.

  He waited until the servants had left the room. No doubt they would hover outside the door to listen to the conversation between two gentlemen and a couple of actresses. It made it all the more pressing to end this affair immediately. Herbert clearly had no idea what he was getting himself into.

  Beside him he noted Miss Fairmont’s slender fingers were gripped together.

  ‘I suppose we can get straight down to it, Miss Coop. I had hoped to handle this with some finesse, but since Miss Fairmont presses the point...’ A glare in her direction was met with an answering flash of her eyes. With effort he wrenched his attention from her to focus on the blonde actress. ‘You’re a young woman of obvious charms, Miss Coop, but if you have ideas about marrying my cousin Herbert I’m afraid I must put them to rest.’

  Her big eyes instantly brimmed with tears. ‘What? Oh!’

  ‘I say, Darius,’ Herbert protested. ‘We’re here for a pleasant supper. Steady on.’

  Darius ignored him. ‘I’m the head of the Carlyle family. My cousin will under no circumstances marry an actress.’

  ‘What do you have against actresses?’ Miss Fairmont demanded from his right.

  He twisted to face her. ‘Must you force me to be blunt?’

  Her chin tilted higher. ‘Please. Let’s not play-act.’

  Darius shrugged. ‘Actresses are no more than title-hunters.’

  Miss Coop gave a shriek.

  ‘That’s an outrageous thing to say.’ Miss Fairmont hardly raised her voice, yet the anger in it reached him. ‘Women have been on the stage since the days of King Charles the Second. How long will it take for us to be granted respect for our craft?’

  ‘Acting isn’t a craft,’ he said scathingly. ‘For women, it’s merely a version of the oldest profession, at which they are well versed.’

  ‘Men are actors, too,’ said Calista.

  ‘Male actors act,’ Darius conceded, with a derisive look at Mabel’s décolletage. ‘Females of the species merely display their wares.’

  ‘Now, Darius,’ Herbert blustered from the other end of the table. ‘That’s a bit much.’

  Darius took up his glass of whisky. ‘Miss Fairmont is correct about my motivations. My desire is not to spend time in the company of actresses. It is to discover the price of avoiding such company in future. Let’s get down to business. How much money will it take to ensure you leave my cousin alone, Miss Coop?’

  Now tears trickled down the blonde woman’s chin into the crevice of her cleavage. Her bosom heaved.

  Miss Fairmont leapt to her feet. Except for the two spots of redness in her cheeks her complexion appeared pale, almost waxy. ‘You’re being extraordinarily rude. Don’t speak to my friend in such a manner. You have no right. You don’t know her.’

  Darius banged his glass down and stood. Miss Fairmont came to just above his shoulder.

  ‘I know of actresses. Every actress in Covent Garden wants to marry a lord or a duke. It’s become an epidemic. Perhaps you’re the same. Are you angling for a title, too?’

  ‘How dare you!’

  ‘Lady Calista. Countess Calista. Duchess Calista,’ he mocked. ‘Is that why you’re here tonight? Is that your secret hope, like all actresses?’

  Against her white skin Miss Fairmont’s blue eyes were as brilliant as sapphires. ‘Is it beyond your imagination that some actresses might not want a coronet? I am one of them. I answer to the stage, not to a duke.’

  ‘Come, come,’ he sneered. ‘You’re indulging in play-acting now.’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘My family goes back four generations on the stage. I have a lineage as proud as yours. My mother and grandmother were actresses, and my father...’ her voice wavered ‘...my father was a playwright. You’ll never understand what the stage means to me. You talk of the actresses who left the stage to marry into the aristocracy. I’m sure many of them regretted it and longed for the stage when their husbands refused to allow them to act again.’

  ‘As I’m sure many aristocrats regret their marriages to actresses,’ he shot back. ‘I’ve seen it myself in the circles of my acquaintance. It never works. It leads to ruination. As head of the family it’s my duty to ensure no Carlyle becomes embroiled in such a disastrous match again.’

  Her eyes snapped blue fire. ‘You seem to think being a titled wife is such a prize. Why, I’d rather be a mistress than a wife to an aristocrat like you.’

  ‘My mistress?’ He raised a brow. ‘At least you’ve made your price clear.’

  ‘You’re twisting my words,’ she said through pinched lips. ‘I merely mean to say that being a duke’s wife is not what every actress wants.’

  ‘Every actress has a price.’ He spun on his heel and faced the sobbing Miss Coop. ‘Well? What’s yours, Miss Coop?’

  The actress’s lower lip wobbled. ‘I just wanted some lobster.’

  Darius released a stab of a laugh.

  Miss Fairmont moved swiftly around the table. Even in anger her walk maintained that elegant glide. ‘Come along, Mabel. We’re going home.’

  ‘Herbie...’

  Herbert’s napkin fell to the floor as he stood. ‘I’ll call on you tomorrow, Mabel,’ he said nervously. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Come now,’ Miss Fairmont urged, helping her friend up and pressing a white handkerchief into her hand. ‘Please. Don’t stay here for such insults.’

  Over her shoulder she cast Darius a look of scorn. ‘I only hope no actress ever has the misfortune to become your wife.’

  ‘What a performance.’ Darius lifted his glass to her. ‘You’re almost convincing, Miss Fairmont. Bravo.’

  Miss Calista Fairmont slammed the door behind them.

  * * *

  Outside on the street Calista pulled her cloak around herself. Beside her Mabel still sobbed.

  Never before had Calista been quite so furious.

  Title-hunters! How dare he!

  The way the Duke of Albury had treated her, as if she were beneath contempt, as if the craft she poured her life and soul into was nothing. To accuse her of only wanting a title, when she went to such lengths to avoid exactly such entanglements!

  If he only knew...

  Tears stung her eyes. Her fatigue, an exhaustion that went deep into her bones from weeks of worry and lack of sleep, combined with the aftershocks of rage, left her trembling. To have to defend her profession against such aspersions was intolerable.

  No dinners with dukes, Calista resolved anew.

  Never, ever again.

  Chapter Two

  When that great man I loved, thy noble father,

  Bequeathed thy gentle sister to my arms.

  Nicholas Rowe: The Fair Penitent (1703)

  ‘Cally? Are you awake?’

  Calista’s eyes were open before the second word was out. ‘Columbine. What time is it? Are you all right?’

  Columbine snuggled into her arms. Even from beneath the bedcovers Calista could feel how thin and frail her sister was. She was much lighter than an eight-year-old should be. She hardly made a dent in the mattress.

  ‘It’s nine o’clock and I’m very well today,’ Columbine said brightly. ‘I feel much better.’

  Calista laid her hand on Columbine’s forehead. It was true, her temperature had dropped and the hectic flush had gone from her cheeks.

  ‘I didn’t hear you come in last night,’ her sister said. She slept in t
he other larger room with their maid, Martha. By day it served as their sitting room, kept warm by the fire. Her own room was little more than a cupboard and a chill one at that.

  ‘I was later than usual,’ Calista explained. ‘I went out to supper with Mabel.’

  ‘I like Mabel,’ said Columbine, burrowing deeper into the bed. ‘She always gives me sweets when I come to the theatre.’

  Calista sighed, thinking of her friend. Mabel was kind-hearted, and she insisted she was in love with Sir Herbert Carlyle, or so she had declared all the way home after the disastrous supper party. Her infatuations didn’t usually last too long, but that didn’t excuse the behaviour of the Duke of Albury.

  The memory flashed in her mind, followed by a blast of anger.

  Actresses are title-hunters.

  Calista winced. Over and over the phrase rang in her head. It had stung more than the duke might guess. It was galling to think in what contempt he held her profession. She’d never had such sentiment spoken to her face although she knew what people said behind her back. It hurt.

  She raised her chin. The opinion of the Duke of Albury wouldn’t put her off her life’s vocation. She would continue to hone her craft until actresses had the respect they deserved, no matter what men like him believed.

  At dinner the night before—not that they’d actually eaten anything—she’d studied him. She always studied new acquaintances carefully, for she’d learnt they might have a manner or trick of speech she could later bring to life in a character on stage. Yet, to be honest, it hadn’t been for her craft that she’d watched him. He was a man who compelled attention.

  Tall. Broad shouldered. Immaculately dressed in a dark evening jacket, a claret-coloured velvet waistcoat and pristine shirt so white it rivalled new-fallen snow. His evening trousers had been pressed, his shoes polished. She’d noted he wore a crested gold signet ring on the small finger of his right hand. It was a strong, large hand, a whip hand. It was clear he was a man who expected to be obeyed instantly. He could have been a performer himself, having that rare presence a great actor must possess in order to maintain the interest of the audience. His height, his deep voice and his dark good looks would make him a perfect stage hero.