Page 5 of London’s Leading Lady (Castleburys #4)
R ainville took long strides, leading the way to his office within the theatre. Thatcher followed, his expression dark. He knew he was in trouble, but his stubbornness wouldn’t allow him to admit it.
As they entered the lavishly decorated office, Lady Lottie’s frustration boiled over. “You shameless thief!” she hissed at Thatcher, not caring that they were in the presence of a nobleman.
Thatcher scoffed, a sarcastic grin tugging at his lips. “Thief? My dear Lady Lottie, I assure you, I’ve never stolen anything in my life.”
Lottie’s cheeks flushed with righteous anger as she confronted him again. Like a fox on a rabbit’s scent. “You thief!” she accused once again, her voice trembling with emotion. “You stole my play, and now you dare to continue lying about it!”
Thatcher felt a twinge of guilt, but it was quickly overridden by his stubborn determination, and his desperate need to never live as his father did—as his father made his children live. He clenched his jaw. “I did no such thing, Lady Lottie. I am perfectly capable of utilizing my own words. Why would I need to steal your work?”
“Oh, I don’t know, because you did.”
The argument escalated in Rainville’s fancy office, and the air was thick with tension. The duke stood tall and imposing behind his massive mahogany desk, his normally stoic face betraying hints of amusement and annoyance at their fiery exchange. “Enough!” he finally bellowed, his voice like thunder in the room. The force of his command silenced them both, and Thatcher turned his attention toward the duke. Rainville leaned against his desk, tapping his fingers rhythmically on its polished surface as he regarded the two squabbling artists. “I’ve had my fill of this senseless bickering. You’re both talented individuals, and I’m not about to let your childish disputes disrupt the operations of my theatre.”
Lottie opened her mouth to respond, but Rainville raised a quelling hand, silencing her. “Before you two can continue your delightful sparring, you ought to know that a new order has just arrived from the king.”
Thatcher’s eyes widened in surprise, and Lottie’s anger must have been momentarily forgotten, because she too focused on Rainville with bright interest. “The king?” she asked.
Rainville nodded. “Indeed. King William has requested another new play, and this one he wants in two weeks.”
Thatcher exchanged a shocked glance with Lady Lottie. Two weeks was an incredibly tight deadline for any playwright, even a seasoned professional! Christ, how could he manage two weeks when he couldn’t finish a play right now even if he had two years ? His face paled, and he knew Lady Lottie could see a hint of panic in his eyes. It was evident that the prospect of disappointing the king weighed heavily on him. That he could not hide, no matter how he tried.
A triumphant gleam flickered in Lady Lottie’s eyes as she seized the opportunity to get back at him. “Two weeks? That doesn’t leave much time for you to come up with something original , Mr. Goodrich. Does it?”
Thatcher shot her a withering glare but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he turned his attention back to Rainville. “Your Grace, surely you don’t expect me to complete a new play in such a short span! It’s an impossible task.”
“It’s not my expectation, Mr. Goodrich. It’s the king’s command. He’s the greatest admirer of your work.”
Thatcher’s confident fa?ade crumbled like a sandcastle swept away by a rogue wave. His face turned a shade paler.
“Did you hear that, Mr. Goodrich?” Lady Lottie taunted him. “A new order from King William himself. I trust you’re not too terrified to take on the task?”
Thatcher’s response was nothing but a strained, tight-lipped smile, and he avoided her gaze. It was clear Lady Lottie knew that her relentless accusations and Rainville’s announcement had shaken him to the core.
Then Rainville dropped another bombshell that left Thatcher stunned. “Lady Lottie,” he said, “you shall be Mr. Goodrich’s co-writer.”
*
The duke’s words hung in the air, and Lottie’s jaw dropped. She had been prepared to stand her ground, to defend her work against Goodrich’s theft, but she had never considered the possibility of working alongside the man who had betrayed her so callously! To ask such a thing of her!
Impossible.
Thatcher’s eyes widened in disbelief, mirroring Lottie’s shock. Her mind raced with conflicting emotions. Anger still burned hotly within her, but beneath it, a spark of determination flickered. She had always longed for her talent to be recognized, to have her name associated with her work, and this might be her chance! If she could turn this collaboration into an opportunity to showcase her skills, then perhaps the sacrifice would be worthwhile.
Thatcher, too, seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation. His shoulders tensed, and he cleared his throat. “Well, it appears we are to be co-writers,” he muttered to her, his tone tinged with resignation.
Rainville nodded with satisfaction. “Excellent. Now that’s settled, I expect nothing but the best from the two of you. The king has made his wishes clear, and I intend to deliver him a masterpiece.”
With that, Rainville dismissed them, leaving Lottie alone with Thatcher in the office. The air between them was thick with unvoiced emotions, and as they made their way out, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just embarked on an arduous journey, one that would test her patience, creativity, and perhaps even her sanity.
The theatre’s backstage area buzzed with activity as they emerged from Rainville’s office. Actors rushed past them, their voices a cacophony of excitement and satisfaction over a job well done. Lottie and Thatcher walked side by side through the labyrinthine corridors.
For a few moments, neither spoke, lost in their thoughts and grappling with the weight of the situation. Finally, it was Lottie who broke the silence, her voice low and filled with restrained anger. “I cannot believe I have to work with you,” she muttered, her gaze fixed straight ahead. It wasn’t fair.
Thatcher sighed, his breath almost visible in the chilly theatre air. “Believe me, Lady Lottie, the feeling is mutual.”
Lottie shot him a sideways glance. “Think not for a moment that I will let you steal any more of my work.”
His lips curved into a wry smile. “Rest assured, we will write this play together, and it will be as much your work as mine.”
Lottie scoffed. “Do not mistake this for forgiveness, Mr. Goodrich. I will be watching you every step of the way.”
Their footsteps echoed in the corridor as they continued to walk, their paths now inexorably linked by the king’s command and Rainville’s decree. They might be reluctant co-writers, but they knew that they had no choice but to collaborate, for the sake of their reputations and, in Lottie’s case, for the chance to prove their worth in the world of theatre.
“I hope you’re prepared to work, Mr. Goodrich, because I won’t tolerate any of your procrastination or theatrics.”
The playwright smirked. “Procrastination and theatrics? Lady Lottie, you wound me. I’ll have you know I take my work very seriously.”
Lottie’s eyes rolled skyward. “Oh, please. I’ve heard all about your late-night carousing and your fondness for the taverns. You may be a playwright, but you’re hardly the embodiment of dedication.”
Thatcher chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down Lottie’s spine, though she would never admit it. “Appearances can be deceiving. You’d be surprised at what one can achieve with a bit of midnight inspiration.”
She halted abruptly, turning to face him with a glare that could cut glass. “Let me make one thing abundantly clear, Mr. Goodrich. I will not tolerate any funny business, any attempts to undermine my contributions, or any further thievery of my work.”
Thatcher raised an eyebrow, his expression now more serious. “I assure you, Lady Lottie, I have no intention of taking anything from you. The king’s decree forced us into this partnership, nothing more.”
She studied him, searching for any sign of insincerity. “Very well, we shall see. But mark my words—if you betray my trust or attempt to pass my work off as your own again, I will expose you for the fraud you truly are.”
“Understood. Let it be known that I have no interest in being a fraud. I may have my flaws, but my reputation as a playwright means everything to me.”
Their verbal standoff was interrupted by the sounds of actors laughing nearby, their voices carrying through the corridors. Lottie and Thatcher turned and continued their walk, now with a begrudging understanding.
They were, unfortunately, partners.