look back over one white shoulder at Eden. A look that said, as clearly as words, that she knew him. Very well indeed.
‘I will not be a minute.’ Maude fanned herself and studied the room while she recovered her composure somewhat. She refused to contemplate whether Mrs Bailey knew Eden in the Biblical sense or not. It was more to the point to worry about whether he had heard what, or who, Lady Wallace had been talking about.
‘Lady Maude.’ He was back, a bottle of champagne in one hand, glasses in the other. ‘I thought it likely I would need fortifying.’ He seemed either unaware, or uncaring, that it was more than a little fast for an unmarried lady to be drinking champagne like this, especially with him. Maude could only be grateful for the wine—the combination of embarrassment, heat and the close proximity of Eden Hurst were a dizzying combination.
‘That is not very gallant, Mr Hurst,’ she said lightly. ‘It sounds as though you would be unwilling to help me.’
‘A few days’ acquaintance with you, Maude, has taught me caution,’ he observed, pouring the wine and handing her a glass. He lifted his in a salute. ‘Here’s to our partnership.’
With any other gentleman Maude would be flirting lightly, and unexceptionably, by now. Fluttering her eye-lashes at being toasted, teasing him charmingly as a reward for fetching her refreshment. But she could not, without jeopardising her business partnership with Eden, flirt with him. It was too soon.
She contented herself with raising her own glass slightly and smiling at him before sipping. ‘Lady Wallace, Lady Standon and I are on the committee of a charity founded by Lady Dereham to find employment for soldiers disabled by the war.’
She glanced at him, hoping for a nod of encouragement at least, but he was regarding her steadily, his eyes serious. Why she had the impression that he was thinking about something entirely other than the charity, she had no idea. ‘We have bought several inns that are run and staffed by our men, placed others in trades or service, but we are always looking for new opportunities. It occurred to me that you might have some vacancies at the Unicorn.’
The dark brown eyes focused on her; he was back from wherever his mind had been wandering. ‘I don’t suppose you have an ingénue amongst them?’
‘No. Do not be frivolous, if you please, Mr Hurst; this is serious. Surely you can use carpenters and scene painters, doormen and so forth?’
‘I am rebuked, Maude. I presume I am still not forgiven for that particular decision?’
‘Not unless you have changed your mind.’ She should back down on the subject of Miss Golding, she knew. It was unbecoming to argue with a gentleman and, besides, there was nothing in their agreement to allow her rights of veto over Eden’s employment decisions. But the cold practicality of his action still chilled her.
‘No, I have not. But I expect I can employ one or two men, if they can pull their weight. I am not carrying passengers.’
Maude nodded. ‘They will. Our concern is to restore their independence and self-respect by placing them where they can do a fair day’s work, not rely on charity. It is finding those positions that is the challenge.’
‘Good, I would support that. On one condition.’ He had captured her fan, a piece of spangled nonsense that looked ridiculous in his large hand, and was gently wafting it for her.
‘What is it?’ she asked, wary of both his easy acceptance of her proposal and of what his condition might be. He was sitting back at his ease on the spindly gilt chair, legs crossed, expression relaxed. Why then did he give her the impression of being poised to spring?
‘That you call me Eden.’
‘I cannot!’ Maude glanced around, concerned he might have been overheard. The sight of one of the ladies on Bel’s committee ruthlessly cornering gentlemen and lecturing them until they opened their pocket books for the charity was so familiar that no one, so far, showed that they thought the tête à tête in any way out of the ordinary, even if they had realised with whom she was conversing, but for her to address a gentleman by his first name was simply not done.
‘Not where we may be overheard, of course. But when we are… negotiating?’ He furled her fan and handed it back while he refilled their glasses.
‘Negotiating?’ There was a caress in the way he said the word, as though they were coming to terms about something far more intimate. Maude swallowed wine without noticing, then started as Eden took the fan again, his fin gertips brushing the lemon kid glove that sheathed her hand so tightly.
‘But yes. We have, after all, a business relationship, do we not?’
‘Of course.’ She smiled brightly, refusing to let him see how he was disturbing her. But of course, how could he guess how deep her feelings ran? ‘If we are negotiating, then I must state my terms. You may call me Maude and I will call you Eden, in private, if you both take some of the men and join our committee.’
‘Very well. You do not ask me to take Harriet Golding back?’
‘I assumed that to ask you to help her would be a lost cause.’ Vaguely she was aware that the noise level in the room had dropped—people must be moving off towards the buffet.
‘Not necessarily. I will not take her back, but I could probably get her employment at one of the other theatres.’ Eden’s attention was on the fan, holding it on his knee while he untangled the ornamental cord, which had twisted around his wrist. Maude found herself studying his face, the thick lashes hiding his eyes, the fine modelling of his cheekbones under the olive skin, the strong line of his jaw, the mobile mouth that looked as though it should betray so much and yet hid its secrets so well.
‘Then why don’t you?’
He did not look up. ‘That would mean asking a favour, putting myself in someone’s debt. It would need to be worth my while.’
‘What would make it worth your while?’ she asked. And then he did look up, straight into her eyes and she could not look away, nor, strangely, did she blush. The look went too deep for that.
‘Do you know what decided me to play the English gentleman for your father the other night?’ he asked.
‘No.’ The glass was in her hand and Maude drank as though thirsty, her eyes not leaving his. She had asked herself over and over again why he had accepted her money, accepted her interference in his theatre, troubled to soothe her father’s concerns. ‘Tell me.’
‘Because when you want something, you say so. And if you do not get it, then you put forward reasons, you negotiate. You do not wheedle or whine or pout or flutter your eyelashes. You have no idea how refreshing that is.’
‘Oh,’ Maude said. ‘Thank you.’ I think. It appeared to be a compliment. He liked her intelligence enough to take her investment. So to continue to influence him, to insinuate herself deeper into his life, she had to ensure she did not deploy any of the feminine armoury of flirtation or persuasion. Not that I have ever whined in my life, she added to herself. ‘What would make it worth your while to help Miss Golding?’ she asked briskly.
‘Dine with me after the performance on Tuesday.’
After a second Maude became aware that her mouth was open and shut it. Then she reached out, took the fan from him and began it ply it vigorously. How much champagne had
