Page 38 of A Star is Scorned

Flynn had to laugh at God’s sense of humor.

After going to bed early and letting Dash and Joan see the last guests out in the wee hours of the morning, he woke refreshed and eager to see Livvy on set.

Because he’d watched her flee from the library, standing there like a dodo bird.

When what he should’ve done was go after her and tell her that he didn’t want this to be just a publicity stunt anymore.

Against all odds and the promises he’d made himself, he’d developed feelings for a dame.

And stranger still, he couldn’t wait to tell her.

But when he’d practically skipped downstairs to retrieve his morning cup of coffee, all the wind went out of his sails.

Hugh had left a telegram sitting ominously on the kitchen counter, its inky black address mocking him.

Flynn stared at it. Considered tossing it in the rubbish bin without opening it.

Nothing was going to dampen the spring in his step.

The last thing he needed was another request for funds from Edgar.

Until he was in the clear with the Legion of Decency, Flynn was keeping his bank vault locked and bolted.

But curiosity got the better of him while he sat there staring at the telegram, sipping his too-hot coffee. It contained only three words:

HE IS GONE

It was done then. Lord Banks, the seventh Viscount of Nottsworth, had shuffled off his mortal coil once and for all.

Flynn expected to feel nothing. Perhaps a sense of relief, of a weight being lifted.

Even outright glee at the thought of his father rotting in hell like he deserved.

He’d certainly taken enough beatings from his father to have earned the right to dance on his grave.

But a peculiar pain hit him square in the chest as he read the words over again.

Was this grief? How could it be? How could any part of him mourn for this man?

He’d never know what his father had so desperately wanted to tell him on his deathbed.

But there was nothing his father could have said that would’ve mattered.

Flynn’s only regret was that he’d never confronted the bastard about the fact that he knew his father’s worst secret.

That he had never exposed the old man for what he truly was.

Flynn had hoped that his profligate lifestyle had been punishment enough.

The best revenge was living well, after all.

But should Flynn have told him? Had he caused more harm by choosing to run away rather than confront him?

And did it matter now that his father was dead?

All of this roiled in his mind as he ghost-walked through his morning ablutions, washing his face, shaving, and pomading his hair. His plan to rush to the studio, visit Livvy’s dressing room, and confess how he felt was forgotten, washed away by a sea of confusion and unease.

Two hours later, Flynn was on set. But his mind was still back at home with that blasted telegram.

He alternated between a deep sadness that his father had never loved him, had never been capable of such affection, and an anger at himself for feeling so shaken by this news.

Choose joy. He recited the words to himself over and over in his head, hoping they would dispel this foreign emotion of guilt.

Absentmindedly, he wondered if he was in the will.

Likely not, if Edgar was reduced to begging him for funds.

A shame, as Flynn could’ve used the extra cushion right now.

Livvy gave him a weak smile, but he didn’t return it.

She frowned, but he scarcely noticed, being so lost in his own thoughts.

She was in a billowing gown, looking nervously up at the scaffolding she needed to climb to reach her perch.

His character was meant to scale the walls of her home, climbing to her balcony and stealing a good-night kiss.

All very Romeo and Juliet. He ran his hand down his face.

He didn’t have the stomach for this today.

Not with his thoughts a jumble. He couldn’t pretend to make love to her until they had a chance to talk about last night.

It felt…wrong. But by the same token, before he could confess to her, he wanted to shake off whatever this sudden pall was.

How would she respond if he admitted he was developing feelings for her with this hangdog expression?

Livvy gently nudged him, and it made him jump. “What was that for?” he growled.

She looked hurt. Fuck. Here his father was again, ruining his life. This time from beyond the grave.

“I was trying to be friendly,” she muttered. She bit her lip and rolled her shoulders back. “I thought…last night…” Her voice trailed off and he had no idea whether she intended to tell him it was a terrible mistake or the best night of her life.

He snapped at her when she didn’t continue. “What?”

“Never mind. Let me be. I need to focus.”

He was in a wretched mood. He should have called in sick.

But Harry knew that his Halloween party had been last night.

He would have assumed Flynn was hungover and docked his pay.

Now Flynn was taking it out on Livvy instead.

For the first time, he thought perhaps there were some parts of himself that could use improving.

“Sorry. I just… I’m not feeling myself this morning. ”

Livvy’s face fell as she stared at him. Oh. No. She thought it was because of last night. He was digging this hole deeper. He started to apologize and try to explain when a production assistant came to escort her to the scaffolding.

He slumped in a chair behind the camera, waiting for her before taking his own post. Rallo, who had been at Lionel’s foot in the shadows, sprang into his lap and sat there.

Flynn watched as Livvy balked at the directions to climb up to the tiny wooden balcony the crew had built for the scene.

He petted the tiny monkey and muttered, “At least she has solid ground beneath her. I have to stay on the edge of the balcony with only a foothold and my own strength.”

The monkey cocked his head, seemingly listening to Flynn complain, taking in his monologue. It occurred to Flynn that his position in today’s scene was a fitting metaphor for his mental state, but he didn’t particularly like the implications of that.

“You understand me, Rallo. Hell, you might be the only one in this entire town who does.”

The monkey chittered in agreement, and man and beast both looked across the soundstage to watch Livvy scale the scaffolding in her voluminous skirt.

She was one hell of a woman. And still he couldn’t shake himself from this hollowness that had descended on him when he read that telegram.

It was infuriating. He hated his father. Why should he feel this so keenly?

At long last, Livvy was ready. The director, Mickey Curtis, whom Flynn had worked with several times, pulled Flynn aside. “Okay so, we’ll film you jumping into the tree beneath her window, scaling its branches, and climbing onto her balcony,” he explained in his thick Irish brogue.

Flynn nodded. “Got it, Mick.” Frankly, he wanted to get this over with. Then, he could get his head on straight and explain himself to Livvy.

“All right then, if everyone is ready, places!” Mickey called out. “Action!”

Flynn crossed from behind the camera into the frame, scaled the tree easily, and took his spot hanging onto Livvy’s balcony. “Lady Margaret,” he called. “What ho, Lady Margaret.”

“Who goes there?” Livvy emerged, her eyes sparking and her black hair looking even richer and glossier under the intense lighting. He almost lost his balance.

He gripped the edge of the concrete balcony, holding on for dear life.

Jesus Christ. He’d never been unsettled by a woman like this before.

He hadn’t really given her a good look this morning until now.

If it was possible, she was even more beautiful than she had been in the library last night, with her lips swollen and her breasts straining at her blouse.

“It is I, your lovelorn suitor,” he squeaked.

“Cut,” called Curtis. “Banks, you all right?”

Flynn pulled himself up, trying to ignore the queer look Livvy was giving him. “Yes, yes,” he huffed out. “I’m fine, just lost my footing a little.”

“All right, back to one.”

Flynn sighed and climbed down from his perch as Livvy retreated through the archway, into what was meant to be Lady Margaret’s bedroom. Again, he regretted not skiving off for the day.

Soon enough they were rolling again, and Flynn masterfully scaled the wall, this time keeping his wits about him as Livvy strode into the scene.

“Jamie Brandt,” she hissed. “What are you doing here? Are you mad? If my father’s guards find you here, they’ll kill you.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” He winked at her. Fine, this was fine. The scene was moving along now. “If it means I can say good night to the woman I love.”

Livvy blinked at him, seeming to forget her lines for a moment as she took in what he said.

But the moment passed as quickly as it came.

“You’re a fool, Jamie Brandt. You must go.

Besides, I don’t love you.” The words weren’t real, but they bruised Flynn’s heart all the same. He needed to get ahold of himself.

“Ah, well, then I suppose my life means very little.” He swung out from the balcony, hiding himself in the faux ivy covering the exterior of the house.

Livvy gasped. “Jamie, no!”

He swung back to her. “Ah, so you do care.” He winked at her. The scene felt real. Alive in a way no love scene he’d done before ever had.

“Oh, darling.” She reached for him, pulling at his woolen cloak to draw him closer. “I do love you. I love your bravery. I love how headstrong you are. Most of all, I love what you are doing for the people of this little island. But you must go. Every minute you linger, you are in greater danger.”