just wait a minute while I get the boy to watch the door.’ Maude shook her head.
‘No, it is quite all right, I know the way, Mr—?’
‘Doggett, ma’am.’
‘Mr Doggett. This is my maid, Anna—you will probably be seeing quite a lot of us from now on.’ The man knuckled his forehead and grinned, revealing several gaps in his teeth, as they walked past.
‘The stage door-keeper is an important man backstage,’ Maude explained as they walked along the corridor to the Green Room. This passageway had been painted green up to the dado rail, then cream above with prints of theatrical subjects hung on the walls, no doubt in acknowledgement of the class of visitors to the Green Room. ‘You will need to speak to Doggett when you want to call the carriage, or if you need to go out on an errand for me. He keeps an eye on things and makes sure no riffraff come in.’
‘Yes, my lady.’ Anna nodded solemnly. Maude hoped she was absorbing the idea that it would be all right to leave Maude from time to time. It was going to be impossible to establish any sort of relationship with Eden Hurst with the maid always at her side.
‘You’ll be able to reassure his lordship about how well run and respectable things are here,’ Maude continued chattily.
‘Oh, yes, my lady. I’ll do that.’ So, she was expecting to report back.
Bless him, Papa was no fool, however indulgent he might be, Maude thought, half her mind on the proposals Mr Benson was outlining, half on her tactics for dealing with Anna.
Eden Hurst was silent, listening. His head was bent over his hands clasped on the desk, his eyes apparently fixed on the gold tooling around the edge of the green leather top.
Benson put down his pen and sat back, too experienced to prolong his presentation.
‘Reduce the return by one percent and I will consider it,’ Eden said at last, looking up, his eyes clashing with hers, not the attorney’s.
‘By one quarter of one percent,’ Maude said promptly.
The dark eyes looked black; there was no softening tilt of the lips or warmth in his voice as he responded, ‘Three quarters of one percent.’
‘Half.’ She felt as though she had been running, the breath was tight in her chest and it was an effort to keep her voice cool and steady. This was, somehow, not about the money.
She was meticulous in keeping all hint of feminine charm out of her voice, her expression. When she was buying supplies for the charity or coaxing donations from patrons she would use whatever pretty wiles worked—wide-eyed admiration, a hint of chagrin, a touch of flirtation. But with this man she sensed they would not impress and he would think less of her for it.
‘I will meet you halfway,’ she added.
‘Will you indeed, Lady Maude?’
‘But no further.’ Beside her Benson shifted, uneasy. She did not turn her eyes from Eden Hurst’s face. It was like trying to outstare ice. Then slowly, subtly, she was aware of heat and realised she was blushing and that those cold, dark eyes were warming, smiling, although the rest of his face was impassive. There was no air left in her lungs now, but she was not going to give in, she was not…
Anna coughed, Benson put his pen down and the spell was broken. Which of them looked away, Maude had no idea, but Eden was on his feet, his hand extended across the wide desk. ‘Come, then,’ he said. ‘Halfway.’
No man had ever offered her his hand to seal an agreement before. It was not done. A gentleman told her what he would do and she took his word for it. A tradesman agreed a price and bowed her from his premises. Men shook hands on deals with other men. Some instinct made her pull off her glove as she stood and took his hand. It was warm and dry and she could feel calluses on the palm as it closed around her fingers, firm, positive, but careful not to squeeze hard as it enveloped them.
A lady allowed her gloved hand to remain passive in a man’s for a few seconds while he bowed respectfully and then released her, or placed her fingertips on his forearm so he could escort her. A lady did not grasp a man’s hand in hers and return pressure with her naked fingers as she was doing now. He must be able to feel her pulse thudding, she was certain.
Mr Benson cleared his throat, her hand was released and they sat down as though nothing had happened. She had finalised a business arrangement—why did she feel almost as disorientated as she had when he kissed her?
‘I will amend the documents now.’ The attorney produced a travelling inkwell and pen and began to alter the documents before him. Maude sat silent while the nib scratched over the paper, occupying herself with removing her other glove and tucking them both into her reticule.
‘There.’ Mr Benson finished, pushed one set across the desk to each of them and handed his own pen to Maude. ‘If you will read them through and sign, then exchange copies.’
Maude Augusta Edith Templeton, Maude wrote in her strong flowing hand. It was not a ladylike signature, her governess had complained, trying vainly to make her produce something smaller and altogether less assertive. She initialled the other pages as she had been taught and handed them to Eden, taking his in return.
Eden Francesco Tancredi Hurst, it said in writing equally as black and considerably more forceful. Maude signed below it, the sudden image of a marriage register flashing through her mind. ‘Francesco Tancredi?’ she said before she remembered the rumour about his father. It must be true.
‘Augusta Edith?’ he retorted.
‘Great-aunts.’ He did not respond with any explanation of his two very Italian names.
‘I will call at the bank and arrange for the transfer of funds.’ Mr Benson was on his feet, pushing his papers together. ‘May I take you up, Lady Maude?’
‘Thank you, no. I have my carriage.’
He bowed over her hand before clapping on his hat. ‘My lady. Mr Hurst, I bid you good day.’
Eden stood while she sat down again. ‘Would you like to see around behind the scenes now?’
‘Yes, please. But first—’ But first she wanted to speak to him alone and there was the small matter of one attentive lady’s maid sitting like a watchdog in the corner. ‘I would love a cup of tea.’ Eden reached for the bell. ‘Anna can go and find that little maid—Millie, wasn’t it? Run along and ask Doggett at the stage door where to find her, Anna—and no gossiping with anyone else, mind.’
Trained obedience had the maid on her feet and halfway out of the door before she realised the conflict in her orders. ‘But, my lady, Lord Pangbourne said—’
‘And you are doing very well, Anna,’ Maude praised. ‘I will be sure to tell him so.’
‘Yes, my lady.’ Beaming, she hurried out, closing the door behind her.
‘So, your father has set a watchdog to guard you? Not a very fierce one.’ He strolled round the desk and hitched one hip on the edge, looking down at her.
‘No, she is not, although she is very serious about it. I wanted to say thank you for Monday night.’
He
