Rogue's Charade Page 11

  Chapter Eight

  The Rowley theatrical troupe entered into Rochester with great fanfare and a procession, consisting of members of the troupe, colorfully arrayed, led by a child beating a drum. Conspicuous in the carriage were Giles, smiling benevolently upon the spectators, and his wife; slumped below window level was Simon, with Blythe close against him. He was her captor and her—what? For the life of her, she didn’t know anymore what she felt about him.

  She raised her head. His gaze met hers and held, steady, serious. It came flooding back to her, then, all that had happened the evening before at the Tabard Inn. That kiss. Mercy, that kiss! Color flooded into her cheeks with the return of the memories. She was not naive. She knew that it was possible to be carried away by passion, though she herself never before had been. Nor had she ever expected to be, and certainly not with this man. Not even though his eyes were warm, knowing; his lips softened, parted; his head bent. Helplessly she gazed at him. They were not alone, and their lives were in peril. Yet, if he were to kiss her again, she would not, for the life of her, be able to pull away.

  “Good.” Giles nodded approvingly at the spectators. “We’ve managed to attract an audience. That should bring them in. And with so obvious an entrance, no one should suspect you’re here.”

  “Good,” Simon said quietly. Though he hadn’t actually moved, she sensed his withdrawal from her, in the tension of his muscles, in the tone of his voice. And thank heavens for that. She wriggled on the seat, putting as much space between her and Simon as possible. To have kissed him once was folly, something she didn’t intend to repeat. If he thought she would, that she was awaiting his kisses at any time, he’d soon learn differently. She was not about to take up with an actor, let alone with an escaped convict.

  “We’re to be two weeks here,” Giles said, stretching, his arm coming down on Phoebe’s shoulder. She shied a bit, but then relaxed, moving closer to him. “And here my lovely bride will make her debut as Lady Macbeth.”

  “The Scottish play? An interesting choice,” Simon said. “I wish you well in the role, Mrs. Rowley.”

  Phoebe murmured something inaudible, her head lowered, and Giles beamed. “She will delight us all. And you, Simon? Do you join us?”

  “No. We will be leaving you here.”

  “It’s true, then?” Giles’s gaze was sharp. “You’re for the coast.”

  Simon shrugged, that half-smile that Blythe found both infuriating and enticing upon his face. “Who knows?”

  Giles nodded. “Best if you don’t tell us. And you, lass, you’ve a place to go?”

  Blythe sat primly, properly, hands folded in her lap. “Yes, thank you.”

  “A pity. No, not that you have a home, of course. Doubtless after the past days your home will be a welcome sight. But that voice, lass. Ah, what an actress you would make.”

  Simon made a noise suspiciously like a snort. Well! He needn’t find the idea quite so amusing, though it was, of course, ridiculous. “I thank you, sir, but I think I’m best suited elsewhere.”

  “I am not so sure, but—ah, well, it is your choice, of course. We stop at the Royal Theater.” He turned to Simon, suddenly all business. “We’ve only a few hours to rehearse. Pity your face is so well-known, Simon. We could use your talent.”

  Simon lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Another time, perhaps.”

  “If we are lucky.” Giles rose as the carriage jolted to a halt, and opened the door. “And here we are, at the Royal. It’s a bit shabby.” He frowned. “Looks to have come down in the world since last we were here. But don’t worry, my sweet.” He smiled down at Phoebe. “The place will shine tonight for you. And you will shine in it.”

  Phoebe ducked her head, and Blythe felt a stab of pity for her, so obviously out of place in this environment. As was she. The sooner she set off for home, the happier she would be, she told herself resolutely.

  Ignoring Simon’s hand, she stood up, peering cautiously out of the carriage. All she could see was a high, drab brick wall, pierced by windows, but with only one door. “The back of the theater,” Simon explained, standing beside her. “The part actors are most familiar with.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “I realize that, but...” He shot her a look. “Have you never seen a play, then?”

  She kept her eyes focused ahead, watching Giles escort Phoebe into the theater. “No, never.” And though she would like to, this was neither the time nor the place for it.

  “Ah, a shame. If things were different I would play Hamlet for you. Or perhaps,” he grinned, “Romeo.”

  “Or perhaps the part of a condemned man, in which you would do very well.”

  He jumped to the ground, holding his arms out to her. She ignored him, clambering carefully down by herself. “Enemies to the end, I see.”

  “Of course. How could we be other?”

  “Indeed.” Simon edged closer. “However, I suspect I shall miss you, Miss Marden.”

  “The feeling is not returned, Mr. Woodley.”

  “Quickly, now.” McNally was before them, frowning. “Get inside. The fewer see you, the better.”

  Blythe pulled back from the hand he had put on her arm. “But I thought I’d go—”

  “You will.” Simon took her other arm, and so she was propelled to the narrow wooden staircase that led to the stage door. “But as I have caused you no end of inconvenience these past days, I would like to arrange transport for you.”

  She glanced at him, startled, and then looked away. Oh, what a performer he was. Now that he was among friends, he was pretending to be kind. Why, he had even managed to make his eyes look regretful. A most skilled actor, indeed. “Thank you,” she said, coolly.

  “The least I can do. And, Blythe.” He put his hand on her arm as they stepped just inside the theater, making her stop.

  “What?”

  “About last night—”

  “What about last night?”

  “Ah—nothing. Forget it,” he muttered, turning away.

  “I assure you, I have,” she said to his back, and had the satisfaction of seeing his shoulders stiffen.

  “Come, Miss Marden.” Giles was taking her elbow, with Phoebe still on his other side. “We will find you a place to wait while McNally goes for a chaise.”

  “You must be hungry,” Phoebe said, so softly that Blythe had to strain to hear her.

  “I am, rather,” Blythe admitted.

  “We’ll go to the green room. Someone will find something for you.”

  “Thank you.” So this was what a theater looked like, she thought, glancing around. At least, the back of one, a maze of narrow passageway, some of which sloped, and stairs that rose into the darkness above. An open door to her right disclosed a large room, where there were tables set with mirrors, and several of the ladies of the troupe were already settling with their baggage and their babies. It was dark, drab, workaday. Not what she had expected, and yet somehow she wasn’t surprised. After the events of the last days, she didn’t think anything could surprise her anymore.

  “Here, sit down.” Giles threw another door open. It led into a room decorated much as a drawing room would be, with sofas and chairs placed on a fraying carpet and pictures dotting the peeling plastered walls. On the far wall hung an enormous gilt-framed pier glass. All the furniture showed considerable signs of use, but Blythe sank into a carved oak chair gratefully. Her concept of comfort had changed in the last few days. Giles frowned, and turned away. “And you, Master Simon, had best stay out of sight. None of my troupe’ll betray you, but I can’t vouch for the locals.”

  Simon shook his head. “I won’t stay, Giles. I’m not going to put you in any kind of danger.”

  “No talk of that now,” Giles interrupted. “Sit down and we’ll find you something to eat. Then you can decide what to do. Come, my love.” He smiled down at Phoebe. “Let us see if this stage is adequate for your talent.” They went out and the door closed behind them, leaving Simon an
d Blythe alone for the first time since they’d left the inn the evening before.

  Blythe felt her color abruptly rising again, as the memory struck her. As if he were thinking the same thing, Simon sprang up from the chair and paced the floor. “I can’t stay here. ‘Tis not safe for anyone,” he said.

  Blythe leaned her head back against the chair. “Why is this called the green room? The walls are yellow.”

  “Tradition. Green is a lucky color for the stage.” He stopped before a badly-executed landscape, frowning. “Likely I’ll never be in a green room again.”

  Drowsiness was fast overtaking Blythe, in spite of her hunger. “What are you going to do?”

  He turned, hands tucked into his breeches pockets. “It’s best you not know.”

  She straightened. “Aren’t you heading for the coast?”

  “I can’t tell—” he began, just as the door from the corridor crashed open. Instantly he dropped into a crouch, hands extended before him, wary and ready, shielding Blythe from whoever had come in.

  “Oh, Simon, my dear boy,” a voice said, deep contralto and musical. “Do I still frighten you so?”

  Simon straightened, looking just a bit sheepish. Blythe looked from him to the woman who stood there, smiling. Had he been protecting himself, or her? “Katherine.” He took the woman’s hand in his and brought it to his lips. “As lovely as ever, I see.”

  “Flatterer. And what have you brought us now, Simon? An addition to our troupe? Though I warn you, we’ve enough ingenues at the moment—”

  “I’m not staying,” Blythe put in quickly, annoyed as the woman took Simon’s arm and subjected Blythe to a comprehensive scrutiny. Blythe flushed. She knew she looked disheveled, but who was this woman, to pass judgment on her? And what was she to Simon? “And I’m no actress.”

  “No ingenue, either,” Katherine said, matter-of-fact and yet not unkind. “Just as well. I’ve enough challengers vying for my roles.”

  “No one can hold a candle to you, Kate,” Simon said, and Blythe felt again that annoyance. Jealousy? Surely not.

  “Dear boy.” Katherine patted Simon’s cheek absently and chose a chair across the room, sitting with a swirl of skirts that would do a queen proud and that made Blythe’s fingers clench. Though she must have arrived with the others, she yet managed to appear pristine and composed, in a full-skirted gown of sky blue muslin, with a white petticoat beneath, and not a strand of her chestnut hair, piled atop her head, out of place. Nor did her face bear any traces of theatrical makeup. Not quite the painted lady of Blythe’s imaginings. “You would do, you know, even if you’re not suitable for the ingenue roles.”

  “Me?” Blythe said in surprise.

  “Yes, you.”

  “But I’m not an actress.”

  “Stand up,” Katherine commanded, and to her own surprise, Blythe did so. “Mm. She has presence, don’t you agree, Simon?”

  Simon glanced over at Blythe. “I suppose she does.”

  “Nevertheless, I am not an actress,” Blythe insisted, annoyed by his too-ready agreement.

  “But you could be. You could not play the lead, not yet, but with time and training, perhaps you’d do. And with that hair you’d be striking on the stage.”

  Blythe’s hand flew to her hair. There was nothing, she knew, the least bit striking about her. “I thank you for your kind words, but—”

  “—and that’s put the devil in it,” Giles said, walking into the room, a sheaf of papers in his hands. “Kate, what are you doing here?”

  Katherine lifted an imperious brow. “I was curious.”

  “I told you not to—well, the damage is done, and in more ways than one. Joseph found you transport, Miss Marden.”

  Blythe’s gaze went to Simon. He held it for just a moment, and then looked away. “Did he?” she said, wondering why the news didn’t make her happier.

  “Yes. But there’s a problem.” He handed some of the papers to Simon, some to Blythe. “Soldiers are in town, posting these.”

  “Bloody hell,” Simon muttered. “Well, I know I’m a wanted man. This doesn’t make much difference.”

  Blythe glanced down and saw, at the top of the piece of foolscap in her hands, dark letters proclaiming the word “wanted.” If these were being circulated everywhere, what chance would Simon have of escape? “Perhaps if you wear a disguise,” she said.

  “Bloody hell,” Simon said again, with more heat this time, throwing the papers down. “What are they about?”

  “Do you see where your foolishness has led, boy?” Giles said. “Bad enough the law’s after you, but to bring it down on an innocent is a disgrace.”

  “But we knew the soldiers were searching,” Blythe said. “This only confirms it.”

  Simon’s eyes held regret. “Can you read, Blythe?”

  “Yes, of course I can read.”

  “Then read the rest of it.”

  She frowned at him, but then dropped her eyes to the page again. “Wanted,” she read again, but underneath that, in letters only slightly smaller, was a name she hadn’t expected to see. Her own.

  Chapter Nine

  “This can’t be right,” Blythe said, staring uncomprehendingly at the poster. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “I’m sorry, princess.” Simon stood before her, hands tucked into his pockets. “I never meant to involve you so.”

  “But you have, so what do you plan to do about it?” Giles broke in.

  Blythe looked up. Giles looked grim. Even Katherine, poster in hand, looked grim. “But it’s not that bad,” she protested. “If I go home—”

  “Where you’re known, and where they’re sure to search for you,” Simon interrupted, crouching before her and placing his hands on the arms of the chair, so that his eyes were level with hers. “I’m sorry, Blythe. It looks like you’re as much a fugitive as I.”

  “I can’t be!” Blythe slapped at his hand, pushing it away, and stood up so fast he nearly toppled over. “I’ve done nothing wrong, nothing! It wasn’t my fault that you came along when you did—”

  He got to his feet, his hand hovering uncertainly near her shoulder. This was indeed his fault. “I know, princess, and I’m sorry. If I could change things, I—”

  “You wouldn’t.” She said it calmly, looking at him over her shoulder. “You’d do the same thing. You would take me captive and drag me across half of England to save yourself. That’s all you care about.”

  He didn’t flinch at that, though her words were like lashes on his already sore conscience. “I’m sorry, princess,” he said again. “I can’t change what’s done.”

  “What are you going to do, boy?” Giles asked heavily.

  Simon turned to him, all his plans, all his hopes to clear his name fading. He had lost any right to them when he had dragged an innocent into his escape. “We’ll go to the coast,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “There’ll be some way for us to get out of the country.”

  “But I don’t want to go!” Blythe wailed.

  “I know. But what else can you do, princess? If you go to family or friends you’re sure to be caught, and what good will that do you? And they’ll use you to get to me.”

  She stared at him. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Not whether I’m safe, but whether you are.”

  Hell. For once in his life he was trying to do the right thing, and it was being tossed back in his face. “Blythe, I—”

  “You’re both overlooking something,” Giles said. “The ports will be watched to prevent your escape.”

  Simon shrugged. “That’s a chance we’ll have to take.”

  “Silly boy, you haven’t learned a thing, have you?” Katherine scolded. She had crossed the room and now stood beside Blythe, an arm about her shoulders. “Perhaps you deserve to be taken, but this innocent doesn’t.”

  He nodded in wry acknowledgment. Perhaps he did deserve it. “I can’t think of what else to do.”

  “The answer is obvious, is it not? Hide.”


  “Ha!” His laugh was mirthless. “Where?”

  Katherine caught Giles’s gaze. “In plain sight.”

  Giles nodded. “In the last place anyone would think to look for you.”

  “In...” Simon’s voice trailed off as their meaning penetrated. “You’re saying—”

  “Stay with us, you and Miss Marden. We’ll find something for you to do, and a place to stay—”

  “I can’t stay here!” Blythe exclaimed, sounding so horrified that they turned to look at her. Her eyes were huge, her face pale, the very picture of fear, making Simon long to go to her. But he didn’t. He’d done her enough harm. “I can’t.”

  “Why not, princess?” he said, mildly.

  “Because I—because you’re—well, you’re actors.”

  Giles and Katherine gazed at her politely, as if waiting for her to go on. “I see,” Simon said. “You have so little trust in yourself that you fear we’ll corrupt you.”

  “Yes. No! Of course not. But I can’t stay here.” She swallowed, hard, and for the first time since he’d met her, her eyes shone, as if she were about to cry. “I don’t belong here.”

  “No, you don’t,” Katherine said, to Simon’s surprise. “You deserve better. But if you’ll think about it, dear, you’ll see it makes sense.”

  “We’ve been searched and questioned already,” Giles said. “They’ll not bother us again.”

  “We can’t put you in danger in such a way,” Simon put in, though in truth he thought it a good plan. They were right, of course. The soldiers would be at all the ports, especially since he had taken care to hint that he planned to leave the country. And it was bad enough he’d dragged Blythe into his affairs, without exposing her either to arrest or life in a foreign country.