Chapter 11

After her stepmother left for the night, out as usual with her friends, Victora snuck from the townhouse and to the theatre. No performances were happening that night, but the theatre was far from quiet. Actors recited lines, sets were moved, pens scratched through scripts, and all of this was accompanied by the howling of a coming storm, which lashed against the theatre's walls and windows.

Victoria sat in the corner behind the stage, humming to herself as she wrote yet more scenes for her play. Her heroine and rake were falling in love, and with every line that she wrote, Victoria felt a little shiver of delight creep up her spine.

LADY CONSTANCE: My Lord, I did not expect to see you here! [She pauses, looking about as if she expects them to be noticed.] You are a bold man to accost me outside my home while I do not have a chaperone!

LORD BELMONT: My Lady, I thought you enjoyed my boldness.

LADY CONSTANCE: [She appears flustered but tries to maintain her composure.] Oh my!

LORD BELMONT: Is that all you have to say? [He puts a hand on her waist and draws her close. LADY CONSTANCE gasps, alarmed and enthralled all at once. LORD BELMONT lowers his head and places a kiss on her slender throat.] Oh? No clever words?

Victoria hummed and adjusted her position in the chair, her brow furrowed as she tried to decide how a woman like Lady Constance, who was fearless and fierce, would respond to the shameless advances of such a man. Would she allow herself to be flustered by him, or would she respond with cold composure, feigning indifference to even the most passionate kiss?

Victoria closed her eyes and tried to imagine what she would do if she were as brave as Lady Constance. Her thoughts turned unwillingly to Lord Bedford. If he had kissed her, what would Victoria do? How would she feel? Surely, his kisses must be as passionate, reckless, and dashing as he was. She searched her mind for literary references to kisses in her French books and to all the performances she had watched, but none of those scenes seemed to give her the words that she so desperately needed for her scene.

"Why are you here? There are no performances tonight!" Charles' voice boomed across the stage.

Victoria turned her head to see that some members of the theatre troupe had gathered around an individual who had apparently come unexpectedly to the theatre. Perhaps it was some drunkard who had stumbled in? Or some rather confused patron who had misremembered a date?

"I am looking for someone." That smooth, familiar voice sent a jolt of energy straight to her core, and she self-consciously squeezed her thighs together. Lord Bedford was there. She would recognize his low voice anywhere.

"If you were not invited, you are not welcome," Jack said. "Lord or no."

Charles made an awkward, placating sound. It seemed as though he was torn between keeping Victoria hidden—for that was surely their motivation for being so blunt with a man of Lord Bedford's rank—and between potentially finding another patron for the theatre. Lord Bedford did have a title, after all, and he dressed in a way that spoke of wealth and privilege. While the theatre was about art and magic, it was also about money.

Victoria rose, stepping past Loralie, who had seemingly decided to stand before Victoria and presumably help her hide. She squared her shoulders and straightened her spine. This might be a dangerous decision on her part. She ought not to encourage this rake, but he was already there and searching for her. "He should stay if he wants," Victoria said.

The theatre troupe all turned to look at her, their expressions ranging from baffled to intrigued. Warmth flooded Victoria's face as she took in their familiar faces. At last, she met Lord Bedford's steady gaze. He took a bold step forward and bowed gallantly. His eyes snapped upwards as he straightened. "Lady Victoria, I thought I might find you here."

"I am pleased to see you, although you must take care not to interfere with the troupe's doings. Although there are no performances tonight, they are always preparing something."

"Indeed," Lord Bedford replied. "I would be quite content to join you if you would derive some pleasure from my company."

"I would, indeed."

Feeling shy, she led him to her table, carefully sweeping her papers into her lap and concealing them within the skirts of her dress. He sat in the vacant chair beside her and grinned roguishly. With a strange mingling of pleasure and mortification, Victoria noted that he sprawled in the chair with his legs spread wide. She tried not to notice how that position made his trousers pull more tightly over his powerful thighs.

"What are those?" Lord Bedford asked slyly, nodding at her papers. "Your great work?"

"It is unfinished," she said, her face hot. "Do not mock me, My Lord."

"I do not mock, and I wish to read," Lord Bedford said. "I am certain that your play is something quite special to behold."

"Not so," Victoria replied. "Not yet, My Lord. Perhaps, with some more work, it will be something that I am proud of."

The lord hummed and tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Will it be a scandalous play?"

Victoria knew that her face must be as red as rubies at that moment. She had not thought it possible for her face to grow any warmer, but somehow, it did. A lump rose in her throat, and Victoria valiantly forced it down. "Yes."

"Oh," Lord Bedford replied, nearly purring the word. "I see. How are you managing? I imagine it must be difficult to write such a sensuous play when you have no experience of your own. My offer to help you is still open, My Lady."

"How kind."

"You must have a confidant to aid you in writing salacious material," Lord Bedford said, grinning wickedly. "It is impossible to depict the throes of passion without some personal experience."

"It seems as though you have a low opinion of the human mind's capacity for imagination," Victoria countered.

"On the contrary, I think the human mind is infinite in its capacity for creation," he replied. "However, there are some sensations that must be experienced. Intimacy is one of them."

Victoria wanted to bury her face in her hands, and she wanted to learn more about what he meant. She licked her lips, noting the gesture only afterwards. Her lips and mouth were suddenly dry. "I have a solution," she said. "I usually ask Loralie for her thoughts. She has some experience in that regard."

"Unsurprising." Lord Bedford's tone was neutral, as though the dalliances of actresses were common knowledge.

Victoria supposed that it was, but she was also suddenly a little wary. Even if most gentlemen agreed that actresses had a certain reputation for engaging in the indulgences of the flesh, Victoria knew that such men were sometimes cruel. She would tolerate no unkindness towards Loralie, even from this handsome rake.

"But she is not helping you now," Lord Bedford said, smiling slyly. "Is that why you are shyly hiding your papers? Are you too embarrassed to write any salacious material without her assistance?"

"She is otherwise occupied," Victoria explained. "She is being fitted for the next production."

"Which is?"

"Pamela."

"Ah," Lord Bedford said. "Richardson, hm? I cannot imagine why anyone would wish to adapt that work to the stage."

Samuel Richardson's Pamela was far from Victoria's favourite play. The work mostly involved the suffering of the titular Pamela, and Victoria always detested plays that primarily revolved around the suffering of innocent young women. Still, she felt a spark of indignation at Lord Bedford's sharp dismissal. Loralie would make an excellent Pamela, and the performance would be enjoyable because she was in it.

"There are some who call it scandalous," Victoria said.

Lord Bedford winked. "Only those who have seen little of the world would find Richardson scandalous."

Victoria only shrugged, unable to think of a witty reply to that. Although Samuel Richardson was not her favourite author, she would not contest the excellence of his work.

"What scene are you trying to write?" Lord Bedford asked, leaning forward and planting his forearms on the table. "Perhaps I can offer you some critique."

Victoria's pulse quickened. If she wanted, she could reach out and touch him. He was near enough that she could smell his cologne, the freshness of Bay Rum. Victoria curled her fingers around her papers, wrinkling them slightly. Her breath hitched. He was so very handsome, and if she were an actress, she might have leaned forward, wrapped her arms around his neck, and coaxed him into a kiss.

"The heroine has met her lover," Victoria said. "They intend to kiss one another."

"Ah, and I do not imagine that you have ever kissed a man before," Lord Bedford said slyly. "If only there were some way to remedy that situation."

"If only."

His knee brushed hers and sent a sensation like lightning course through her. Victoria's toes curled inside her slippers. She tried not to show how he affected her and hoped that he did not somehow know that even that smallest brush against her made all her senses come alive.

"Perhaps," Lord Bedford murmured, so close to her that his breath brushed over her neck. "I should teach you how it feels to be kissed by a lord."

All the air seemed to disappear from her lungs, and her chest grew tight. Ladies were not supposed to kiss rakes, and her stepmother's warning echoed in her ears. "I – I cannot," she said. "You know that."

He tilted his head slightly and gave her a debonair, careless grin. "You should not," Lord Bedford said, "but you want to. I would be willing. I promise not to tell anyone."

Victoria's eyes lingered on his inviting, coral lips. She should not believe him. He was a rake, and rakes would lie. Still, everything about him—his sly smile, his warm eyes, and his handsome face—awakened something deep inside her. She wanted to kiss him.

Loralie had told Victoria that sometimes rakes were kind-hearted. What if Lord Bedford was such a rake? Victoria's mind told her that she ought to refuse his offer, but her heart desperately wanted to experience that kiss. She had read about kissing so often and imagined it so many times. Would it be like a storm coursing through her body? Or perhaps it would be warm and gentle like drinking negus before a roaring fire.

This once, Victoria wanted to be Lady Constance. She wanted to be the brazen woman who accepted kisses from handsome rakes. "Just this once," she said.

Victoria leaned forward and tilted her head, just as she had once seen Loralie do when she kissed Lysander in A Midsummer Night's Dream. A delighted shiver traced the path of her spine, and Victoria closed the distance. She meant to be elegant and slow about it, gentle and restrained.

But suddenly, their lips were touching. It was a strange feeling, her mouth pressing against his. His lips were soft and firm all at once. Lord Bedford chuckled, the sound rumbling from his chest. "Not so abruptly," he murmured lowly. "Slower."

He kissed her slowly, bringing their lips together in a gentle meeting. His hand curled in her hair, and he carefully drew her nearer. Warmth filled her face.

She silently tried to find the words for all the movements and sensations, but no language seemed to be sufficient. Victoria lost herself in his scent and warmth. Her hands found his arms, her fingers kneading the fine fabric of his jacket. The entire world seemed to stop around them, narrowing to only Victoria and himself.

Everything inside Victoria ignited, and her mind dared to wonder what else could happen after the kiss. Lord Bedford's thumb stroked her neck, sending a shiver down her. Victoria instinctively closed her thighs as a dull ache formed between her legs.

When Lord Bedford tilted his head back, he left Victoria gasping for air. Her chest ached in the most wonderful way. She kept her lips slightly parted, her chest heaving, as she gazed at Lord Bedford. His face was warm and yet victorious.

"Did that help you?" he asked. "I am happy to provide you with inspiration at any time."

"Oh," she murmured, her mind racing from the kiss and the heat of his gaze.

Lord Bedford's eyes crinkled in amusement. "I should leave you to your work now."

The lord took her gloved hand, kissing her knuckles. With a final bow, he turned away and left Victoria, flushed and flustered, at her table with the pages of her unfinished play.