When You're Desired by Tamara Lejeune Read Free Book Online Page B

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    By the time Simon made his way backstage to Celia’s dressing room, the actress had left the theatre. From the shadows, he watched her Irishwoman come out of her dressing room and carefully lock the door. He knew from experience that Flood could not be bribed. He waited until she had gone, then made his way back through the corridors to the stage door.
    Before reaching it, he turned suddenly, whirling around so swiftly that the person creeping behind him cried out in alarm. His gloved hand clamped down on a thin wrist. “Why are you following me?” he demanded.
    It was a girl, though not an actress by the look of her. She was too thin and dirty. More likely she was a prostitute, of the more common variety. The alleys behind the theatre were full of such pitiful creatures. Probably she had snuck into the playhouse to get warm. Her frizzy hair was as black as it was wild, and she wore a dress of yellow satin that had seen better days. “Was you looking for Miss St. Lys, sir?” she said, her common accent an insult to the English language. “For a shilling, I’ll take you to ’er, I will. For another shilling, I’ll let you do what you like,” she added, confirming his original assessment of her character.
    Simon eyed her coldly. “Not bloody likely,” he said, releasing her arm. “Do you really know where I can find St. Lys?”
    â€œI do, sir. I ’eard ’er in the ’allway, talking to ’er young man. ’E’s ever so ’andsome.”
    â€œCaptain Fitzclarence. Where did they go?”
    She held out her dirty hand. “Ain’t you going to pie me?”
    â€œWhere did they go?” he repeated.
    Her face fell. “To Crockford’s, sir,” she whispered.
    St. Lys, Simon knew, was fond of the place and often went there with her “friends,” but that was no guarantee. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”
    â€œI wouldn’t lie to a fine gen’leman like yourself,” she said indignantly.
    â€œOf course you would,” he retorted. “You’ll get your money when I know you’re telling the truth. You’re coming with me.”
    â€œOh!” she said, her eyes lighting up. She smiled, showing surprisingly good teeth. “Don’t mind if I do!”
    Together they went out into the night, the girl shivering in her thin dress as they walked to the nearest hackney stand. The girl had never traveled in such style before, and as the vehicle moved along, she ran her hands over the cushions in evident delight. Simon studied her by the light of the lamps. She was an odd-looking little thing, hardly a beauty, though not, he decided, unattractive. Her skin was pale. Her large gray eyes were set very wide apart. Her nose was short; her lips wide and full. He had already seen her miraculous teeth. He decided he liked her face; it seemed to be cleaner than the rest of her.
    â€œLet me see your hands,” he told her curtly.
    She held them up. At a word from him, she removed the tattered black gloves. Her hands were clean, too.
    â€œWhat is your name?”
    â€œEliza, sir.”
    Common, like the rest of her.
    The carriage rocked gently. Simon tried to imagine her clean and neatly dressed, her wild black hair tamed, but his imagination failed him. He had no mistress at the moment, but he was not yet desperate.
    They arrived in St. James’s Street. From the outside, Mr. Crockford’s house looked like all the other houses. Simon ordered the girl to wait for him outside; she was not presentable. If he found St. Lys inside, he would return and pay her half a crown; if not, he warned, she could look forward to a long walk back to Drury Lane.
    Leaving her in the cold, he went in. The proprietor met him at the door with an oily smile. Mr. Crockford did not like Lord Simon. Lord Simon had forbidden his officers to set foot in the place. Occasionally they