what way?’
He raised arrogant brows. ‘I accept that you have been the manager of Nick’s for several years, Drew. That you are, without a doubt, the best man for the job.’ He smiled briefly to soften what he was about to say next. ‘However, that ability does not give you the right to question any of my own actions or decisions.’
‘No, my lord.’
‘Where is Caro Morton now?’
‘I usually ensure that she has a bite to eat in her dressing-room between performances.’ Drew’s expression challenged Dominic to question that decision of his.
Remembering the girl’s slenderness, and the pallor of her translucent skin, Dominic felt no inclination to do so; from the look of her, that ‘bite to eat’ might be the only food Caro Morton had in a single day.
‘I’d like to be informed if you decide to let her to go. She has wages owing to her,’ Drew defended as Dominic looked surprised.
She also, Dominic decided ruefully as he agreed to the request before leaving the office, had the cynical club manager wrapped tightly about her tiny little finger, and no doubt the older man would offer her his assistance in finding other employment should Dominic decide to let her go.
Deciding for himself who or what Miss Caro Morton was promised to be an interesting experience. It was a surprising realisation for a man whose years in the army, and the two years since returning to England spent evading the clutches of every marriage-minded mama of the ton, had made him as cynical, if not more so, as the much older Drew Butler.
Caro gave a surprised start as a brief knock sounded on her dressing-room door. Well, not a dressing-room as such, she allowed ruefully, more a private room at the back of the gambling club that Mr Butler had put aside for her use in between her performances.
A room that he had assured her was completely offlimits to any and all of the men who frequented Nick’s …
She stood up slowly, nervously making sure that her robe was securely tied about her waist before crossing the tiny room to stand beside the locked door. ‘Who is it?’ she asked warily.
‘My name is Dominic Vaughn,’ came the haughty reply.
Just like that, Caro knew that the man standing on the other side of the locked door was the same man who had looked at her earlier with those disdainful silver-coloured eyes. She was not sure why or how she knew that, she just did. There was an arrogance in the deep baritone voice, a confidence that spoke of years of issuing orders and having them instantly obeyed. And he was obviously now expecting her to obey him by unlocking the door and allowing him inside …
Her hands clenched in the pockets of her robe, the nails digging painfully into the palms. ‘Gentlemen are not allowed to visit me in my dressing-room.’
A brief silence followed her statement, before the man replied with hard impatience, ‘I assure you that my being here has Drew Butler’s full approval.’
The manager of Nick’s had been very kind to Caro this past week, and, what’s more, she knew that she could trust him implicitly. But having a man approach her dressing-room in this unexpected way and simply stating that Mr Butler approved of his being here and expecting her to believe his claim was not good enough. ‘I am sorry, but the answer is still no.’
‘I assure you, my business with you will only take a few moments of your time,’ came the irritated response.
‘I am in need of rest before my next performance,’ Caro insisted.
Dominic’s mouth firmed in frustration at this woman’s stubborn refusal to so much as open the door. ‘Miss Morton—’
‘That is my final word on the subject,’ she informed him haughtily.
Drew had claimed that Caro Morton was ‘ladylike’, Dominic recalled with a narrowing of his eyes. He could hear that quality himself now in the precise diction of her voice. A subtle, and yet unmistakable authority in her tone that spoke of education and refinement. ‘You will either speak to me now, Miss Morton, or I assure you there will be no “next performance” for you at Nick’s.’ Dominic stood with his shoulder leaning against the wall in the darkened hallway, arms folded across the broad width of this chest.
There was a tiny gasp inside the room. ‘Are you threatening me, Mr Vaughn?’ There was a slight edge of uncertainty to her voice now.
‘I feel no need to threaten, Miss Morton, when the truth will serve just as well.’
Caro was in something of a quandary. Having fled her home two weeks earlier, sure that she would find employment in the obscurity of London as a lady’s companion or governess, instead she had found herself being turned away from those respectable households, time and time again, simply because she did not have the appropriate references.
Everything in London had been so much more expensive than Caro had imagined it would be, too. The small amount of money she had brought with her, saved over the months from her allowance, had diminished much more rapidly than she had imagined it would, leaving her with no choice, if she were not to return to an intolerable situation, but to try her luck at the back door of the theatres. She had always received compliments upon her singing when she’d entertained after dinner on the rare occasions her father had invited friends and neighbours to dine. Those visits to the theatres had resulted in her receiving several offers of employment—but all of them were shocking to a young woman brought up in protected seclusion in rural Hampshire!
She owed her present employment—and the money with which to pay for her modest lodgings—completely to Drew Butler’s kindness. As such, she was not sure that she could turn Dominic Vaughn away from her dressing-room if for some reason the older man really had approved the visit.
Her fingers shook slightly as she took her hands from the pockets of her robe to slowly turn the key in the lock, only to step back quickly as the door was immediately thrust open impatiently.
It was the silver-eyed devil from earlier! He looked even more devilish now as the subdued candlelight illuminating the hallway threw that scar upon his cheek into sharp relief and his black jacket and white linen only added to the rawness of the power that seemed to emanate from him.
Caro took another step backwards. ‘What is it you wished to speak to me about?’
Dominic deliberately schooled his expression to reveal none of the shock he had felt as he looked at Caro Morton for the first time without the benefit of that concealing jewelled mask. Or the ebony-coloured wig, which had apparently concealed her own long and gloriously golden curls. Those curls now framed sea-green, almond-shaped eyes, set in a delicate, heart-shaped face of such beauty it took his breath away.
An occurrence, if she were indeed a disobedient daughter or—worse—a runaway wife, that did not please him in the slightest. ‘Invite me inside, Miss Morton,’ he demanded dictatorially.
Long-lashed lids blinked nervously before she ar rested the movement and her pointed chin rose proudly. ‘As I have already explained, sir, I am resting until my next performance.’
Dominic’s mouth hardened. ‘Which I understand from Drew does not take place for another hour.’
The slenderness of her throat moved convulsively, drawing his attention to the bare expanse of creamy-white skin
