One Perfect Rose by Mary Jo Putney Read Free Book Online Page B

improper?”
    She laughed. “I suppose it’s improper, but we theater people are an unconventional lot.” She hesitated, her expression growing wary. “Perhaps I should have warned you. My father is owner and manager of the Fitzgerald Theater Troupe.”
    Clearly she’d been snubbed in the past because of the family business. Wanting to restore her smile, he said, “I know. I saw The Tempest in Fletchfield. The performance was outstanding.”
    Her wariness vanished. “I think it’s an excellent production, too. Prospero is one of Papa’s finest roles. When he speaks of breaking his staff and drowning his book of magic, it sends chills down my spine every time.”
    â€œIt had the same effect on me. He captured the essence of renunciation, when a man must give up what has been his life.” Stephen hesitated, afraid his voice might give away too much, before continuing in a lighter tone, “Everyone was good, particularly Miranda and Ariel. And you’re the most unusual Caliban I’ve ever seen.”
    She stood and crossed the room. Her tall, delectably rounded figure was every bit as fine as in his dream. “In the ape costume, anyone can play that role. In fact, Calvin, our ticket collector, is doing it tonight.” She ladled soup into a deep bowl. “We didn’t want to leave you to the care of a stranger.”
    â€œYou’re all so kind,” he said, wishing for stronger words.
    â€œIt’s no more than you deserve.” She handed him the bowl and a spoon. “After all, you saved Brian’s life and very nearly lost your own in the process. You’re a hero.”
    He took a spoonful of the soup. Beef and vegetable, very tasty. “Not at all. When I got a good look at the river, I almost turned around and got back on my horse.”
    â€œBut you didn’t,” she said, her great dark eyes glowing with warmth. “To be afraid and risk your life anyhow makes you even more of a hero in my eyes.”
    He shifted uncomfortably, knowing that her admiration was misplaced. It had been no great thing to risk a life that might be measured in months.
    She poured some soup into a cup and took a chair near the bed. “By the way, your horse is stabled here at the inn.” Her expressive eyes sparkled with humor. “Every man who sees the beast admires your taste in horseflesh. Your baggage is over in the corner. I’m afraid your boots will never be the same, but Jeremiah, our expert on leather, is drying them out. He says they’ll be quite wearable by tomorrow.”
    Stephen shrugged. Since he’d always been able to buy anything he wanted, belongings meant very little to him—except for his horse. Jupiter was a friend, not a possession.
    â€œIs there anyone you would like us to notify about your accident, Mr. Ashe?” Rosalind’s glance went to her steaming cup of soup. “Surely your wife and family are worried about you.”
    He thought of his staff at Ashburton Abbey. A single note that he had been injured would bring a dozen worried people down on his head. He could summon family or friends with equal ease. But there was no one who would really miss him. “Thank you, but I’m not expected home at any particular time. And I’m not Mr. Ashe.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said contritely. “What should I call you?”
    He started to answer, then closed his mouth. The moment he identified himself as the Duke of Ashburton, this friendly intimacy would be over. If Rosalind Jordan was venal, she’d try to crawl into his bed again in the hope of gaining some advantage by seducing a duke. If she was the sunny, straightforward woman she seemed, she would probably be intimidated by his rank. She would become very formal, perhaps leave in confusion.
    He looked at her warm eyes and could not bear for that to happen. “My Christian name is Stephen,” he said.