Mastered by Love (Bastion Club 8)

Margaret and Aurelia especially, and Susannah, too, were all but addicted to amateur theatricals; while he’d been in the south at Eton, then Oxford, they’d had to endure many long winters holed up in the castle—hence their passion. He’d forgotten that, but his chatelaine hadn’t.

His respect for her as an opponent rose a definite notch.

He shifted his gaze to Margaret. “I see no objection.”

He could see no alternative; if he objected, put his foot down and vetoed the plays, his sisters would sulk and poke and prod at him until he changed his mind. Expression mild, he arched a brow. “Which play will you start with?”

Margaret glowed. “Romeo and Juliet. We still have all the abridged scripts, and the costumes and bits and pieces from when we used to do these long ago.” She laid a hand on Royce’s arm—in gratitude, he realized—then released him. “I must go and tell Susannah—she’s to be Juliet.”

Royce watched her go; from the questions thrown at her and the expressions evoked by her answers, everyone else was keen and eager to indulge in the amusement.

Minerva had remained, the dutiful chatelaine, beside him. “I assume,” he said, “that we’re to be regaled with Romeo and Juliet tonight?”

“That’s what they’d planned.”

“Where?”

“The music room. It’s where the plays were always held. The stage and even the curtain are still there.”

“And”—the most telling question—“just when did you make this brilliant suggestion of yours?”

She hesitated, hearing the underlying displeasure in his voice. “This morning over breakfast. They were moaning about how bored they were growing.”

He let a moment pass, then murmured, “If I might make a suggestion, the next time you consider how bored they might be, you might first like to consider how bored I might be.”

Turning, he met her eyes, only to see her smile.

“You weren’t bored today.”

There was no point in lying. “Perhaps not, but I am going to be utterly bored tonight.”

Her smile widened as she looked toward the door. “You can’t have everything.”

Retford’s summons rolled out. With irresistible deliberation, Royce took her arm. Noted the sudden leap of her pulse. Lowered his head to murmur as he led her to the door, “But I do intend to have everything from you. Everything, and more.”

Placing her beside him again at dinner, he took what revenge he could, his hand drifting over the back of her waist as he steered her to her chair, his fingers stroking over her hand as he released her.

Minerva weathered the moments with what fortitude she could muster; jangling nerves and skittish senses were a price she was prepared to pay to avoid his ducal bed.

Frustratingly, no one—not even Margaret—seemed to think Royce monopolizing her company at all odd. Then again, with him leaning back in his great carver, making her turn to face him, their conversation remained largely private; presumably the others thought they were discussing estate matters. Instead…

“I take it Romeo and Juliet was not your choice.” He sat back, twirling his wineglass between his long fingers.

“No. It’s Susannah’s favorite—she was keen to play the part.” She tried to keep her attention on her plate.

A moment passed. “How many of Shakespeare’s plays involve lovers?”

Too many. She reached for her wineglass—slowed to make sure he wasn’t going to say anything to make her jiggle it; when he kept silent, she gratefully grasped it and took a healthy sip.

“Do you intend to take part—to trip the stage in one of the roles?”

“That will depend on how many plays we do.” She set her glass down, made a mental note to check which plays were safe to volunteer for.

By example, she tried to steer his attention to the conversations farther down the table; with the increasing informality, these were growing more general—and more rowdy.

Indeed, more salacious. Some of his male cousins were calling suggestions to Phillip—cast as Romeo—as to how best to sweep his Juliet into the lovers’ bed.

To her consternation, Royce leaned forward, paying attention to the jocular repartee. Then he murmured, his voice so low only she could hear, “Perhaps I should make some suggestions?”