Page 4 of The Dark Duke’s Cinderella (The Untamed Ladies #1)

CHAPTER 4

“L ook here, Philip. She should be arriving any moment now.” George’s voice reached Philip over the male singer on the stage.

Philip didn’t consider himself a man of culture, but he had attended enough operas with his family to know what to expect. Tancredi was a newer work from that Italian, Rossini. Thumbing through the program during the overture had given him a brief overview of the plot. A duke forming an uneasy alliance with a rival to defeat their common enemy.

Food for thought, Philip mused, looking over the sea of faces below them. Perhaps that was George’s intention. What deals could be struck between old friends?

The overture left him unaffected. George, of course, had watched the entire time on tenterhooks. Simon snickered beside him at their friend’s expectant expression, clapping languidly with the rest of the audience as the first piece ended and the actors filed onto the stage.

Philip reached into his pocket for his snuffbox—a habit he had brought home with him from the war. His attention piqued, he took out the box from his waistcoat, wondering whether he could excuse himself from Alicia’s first performance.

Simon’s earlier teasing had touched a nerve. Philip had no intention of pursuing Alicia—nor anyone, for that matter. His friends would be waiting avidly for his reaction all the same. George, hoping to see interest spark in his eyes so he could matchmake his cousin. Simon, looking for anything he could use to cause trouble.

Gathering his courage, Philip rose from his seat, ready to make his exit…

At the very moment she appeared.

Walking between a divided chorus, the Seconda Donna entered the stage. George poked him in the ribs, and he sat back down—admittedly enthralled by the sight of her.

It didn’t look like Alicia from afar. Her features were barely distinguishable behind the mask she wore, except for her delicate lips, which were painted red. Her long brown hair fell down her back in waves.

Something about her seemed different. Philip reminded himself how long it had been since the last time they had seen one another. He had changed indelibly since his youth. Why not her as well?

She began her performance, beseeching the military men around her to heed the compassion in their hearts. Philip had heard Alicia perform once or twice. He had always found her lacking. She was technically brilliant. Even he could tell how talented she was. But her voice had never moved him the way it moved others.

That night, she had completely transformed. Her voice struck a chord deep within him. Like being pulled by a string, he leaned forward in his seat, listening, enraptured. The notes she sang wreathed around him. She entranced him, lamenting the circumstances of her dearest friend Amenaide, forced into a marriage because of the ongoing war.

“She’s brilliant, isn’t she?” George whispered beside him. His voice was thick with emotion. “Alicia deserves the world.”

Philip swallowed hard, fearing that he had given his friends exactly what they wanted. But when he looked over at Simon, he was staring down at the stage with equal awe. Alicia’s voice was so raw, vulnerable, distracting.

He leaned back, fighting against the emotions that rose unbidden inside him. He balled his hands into fists, hoping George wouldn’t look over and notice his rising distress. Her song scratched at the edges of his consciousness, begging to be let in, as her piece reached its crescendo, and her voice shot through him, before the applause began.

Suddenly, there was a flash of memory.

The sound of the applause was like the drum of horses on a battlefield as a bayonet shot through the air toward him. That final haunting note had reminded him of Elinor, a wail for all the pain she had endured, and her unanswered supplications for help. Behind it all was the face of the duke—a face eerily similar to his father’s—castigating him for his every failure from beyond the grave.

Philip shot out of his seat. His panic had reached its crux. George and Simon looked up, pausing their applause.

“Philip—”

“Wilmington, what?—”

Embarrassed, Philip composed himself, even as a cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

“A moment,” he begged, raising a hand to stop George from following him as he left their box. “I need a moment.”

He hastened into the corridor behind them, running a hand over his mouth as his mind raced. He paused at the top of the stairs. The applause finally ceased.

The others could never understand what had happened.

He barely understood himself.

* * *

The last note of the scene left her like a desperate cry. Her voice echoed all around her, and she was deaf to everything else happening on the stage. Nerves on fire, her skin tingled from head to toe as she poured herself into her closing phrase. Her throat hurt with the force of her vibrato, but the pain was welcome.

She was not Anna. Not in that moment. She was Isaura . Pleading for her friend’s life. Pleading to be listened to—to be seen .

For the briefest moment after she was done, there was silence. The faces in the crowd blurred into one, and she convinced herself that they had known. Poor little Anna, who had barely had time to live, had ruined her life with a song. The whispers would start any moment, and then someone would immediately send a messenger to her father, and then?—

A wave of applause broke through her thoughts, thundering through the theatre. Their admiration. All for her .

A smile worked its way unbidden onto her lips. The reverberation of their applause was like a drum in her chest. She was a hollow shell, floating there, waiting to be filled up by their praise.

There was no time to rest on her laurels. The next actors were already gathering in the wings. Exiting the stage the way she had come, she pressed the mask to her face and kept her head low. The chorus had left just before her, and the wings were so crowded that she could barely breathe.

Making the most of her tall, lithe figure, she slipped through the crowd until she reached the dressing rooms.

Alicia waited at the door, pulling her inside before slamming the door behind her. She pried away Anna’s mask, their fingers meeting on the porcelain. The cool air felt good against Anna’s skin. She swayed from side to side as Alicia inspected her, feeling faint.

“I can’t believe it,” Alicia breathed. “You were fantastic, Anna. I had to keep my distance so as not to alert the impresario, but I still heard you. You are… You are simply…” Her eyes welled with tears, but she wasn’t smiling. She pressed a kiss to Anna’s forehead, grounding her. “You are so unexpectedly talented. My savior…”

Still reeling from the high of her performance, Anna struggled for words. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her usually pale cheeks had turned pink with the effort of her singing. Small ringlets of brown hair curled around her face, wet with sweat. Yet she had never felt more beautiful, more powerful.

“I thought I was going to be sick when I first got on stage,” she admitted, licking her lips. She could still taste the brandy Alicia had given her to calm her nerves. “But then I started singing and… It was so magical. I can’t believe I actually sang in front of all those people, and they liked it. I can’t… Oh, how I wish I could do that every night. I’ve never felt so alive. You’re so lucky, Alicia.”

“Lucky, I’m not sure. But I agree that there is nothing like it in the world.” Alicia’s hand hovered over her heart as she looked at Anna fondly. A beat, as Anna waited for more gratitude. “While I hate to cut your moment short like this, I think I now feel well enough to perform.”

She extended her hand, waiting for her mask. Anna glanced down at it, unsure why it was difficult to return it to its rightful owner. She had loved singing her whole life, but it had never been her dream to pursue music like Alicia. Anna wasn’t sure what her dream was.

But the way I felt tonight… Could this be what I am meant to do? To stand on my own two feet in front of everyone and show them what I’m capable of?

The idea filled her with excitement as she lovingly stroked the mask. But Alicia cleared her throat, and her father’s face flashed before her eyes, reminding her of all the sacrifices Alicia had made to get to where she was.

It doesn’t matter. I’m not strong like Alicia. I don’t have what it takes to defy society like she has. This was a moment in time, a dream. It could never be my reality to feel this empowered all the time.

Sucking in a restorative breath, Anna gave Alicia back her mask. Her cousin’s expression shifted then to dark satisfaction. Was Alicia really as proud of Anna as she said?

Anna wasn’t sure. There was a flicker of something else in her cousin’s expression now. Something like… jealous rivalry.

“The dress, Anna,” Alicia added, extending her free hand. “If you please.”

Anna nodded, shocked by the change in her tone. “Yes, of course,” she murmured as Alicia put her mask on.

She untied the gown and shuffled out of it, feeling bare in her undergarments. The cool, damp air of the dressing room clung to her skin and made her shiver.

Alicia quickly dressed herself, leaving Anna to collect her evening gown from the hook where they had left it earlier.

“Perhaps…” Anna said, slipping into her dress. “Perhaps we could sing together sometime, as Isaura and Amenaide, or something else.”

Alicia turned from the mirror where she had been inspecting herself. Her lips curled into a smile. “If I have time, then certainly, I would love to. But time is such a precious commodity nowadays.” She tilted her head to the side. “I really am so grateful for you, Anna. I will not forget your service to me tonight.”

No . I suspect you will remember this for a very long time. Though by my estimation, it will be for all the wrong reasons.

* * *

With the taste of tobacco still in his throat, Philip made his way back inside The King’s Theatre. He had no idea how long he had been outside. A faint echo of music had drifted between the doors while he had been outside. It had been mostly drowned out by the sounds of the wind and passing vehicles. Had another scene come and gone?

Indoors, the grand foyer was empty. He braced himself for his return as he began ascending the stairs. George would be concerned, and Simon would ask questions.

That was the last thing Philip wanted—other people’s questions and concerns. It was all wasted breath. He was perfectly content to live his life like he always had—on his terms, without caring what others thought.

What concerned him, at present, was the memory of Alicia’s voice still playing in his mind. He did not like feeling powerless, and she had made him feel just that. Something about the way she had sung had stirred him, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

Could it be that I had been wrong about Alicia? If her voice speaks to me deeply, perhaps our connection was stronger than I had initially believed.

He kept his eyes on the floor, turning a corner and frowning in thought. The sound of the opera increased as he approached. The corridor was faintly illuminated by scones, the red tapestried walls glimmering in the candlelight. Around the bend, the wall opened into compartments, leading into the private boxes.

Just as they came into view, another body crashed into him. An errant elbow jabbed painfully into his side. The force of their collision made Philip’s teeth chatter, and he reeled back in shock.

“ Egad , what the?—”

Before he could look up, pain burst across his ribs. He stumbled back and grabbed his side, groaning as the pain shot down to his leg. He looked up, expecting to find a half-man, half-beast staring back at him. The Barguest, perhaps, come to snatch him as George had said.

But the perpetrator of the attack was a woman . A small, thin, completely unassuming young woman, who was staring at him now with a look of horror. Her face was flushed behind the hands covering her mouth. Large brown eyes looked at him wildly, focused on his scar. There was something familiar about her features—her small delicate mouth, her lightly freckled cheeks…

“I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I just pushed past you,” she said quickly, the words tumbling into one another. “Are you hurt? Oh, but of course you are… I can’t believe I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

He tried to ask her who she was, but searing pain lanced through his side again, and he winced. Their collision had obviously irritated his old injuries—and his pride. Glancing down, he saw his snuffbox glittering on the carpet between them. It must have fallen from his hands as they crashed into one another. The woman quickly bent down to retrieve it, extending it to him with a trembling hand.

Philip pressed his lips together, taking a deep breath. He steadied himself, grabbing his snuffbox from her without meeting her eyes. Despite himself, the warmth of her fingers surprised him, sending a pleasant jolt up his arm, just as the scent of her lavender perfume reached him.

And just like that, realization dawned on him.

“You’re George’s cousin,” he said, straightening against the wall. He inspected her closely. Her face flamed in response, confirming his suspicions. “But what the deuce were you doing in the corridors, running around like a madwoman? Shouldn’t you be in your box?”

“George’s cousin…” Her mouth fell open in shock. The expression amused him, and he might have laughed if he hadn’t been so annoyed with her. “I am not George’s cousin. In fact, I-I don’t know a George in the whole world.”

“What? Not in the whole world? Not even your own King?” Philip arched an eyebrow, his pain ebbing somewhat. “You are George Walford’s cousin. I remember your face. Though, admittedly, you were but a child the last time we met.”

He had met her only a handful of times in his youth, during his courtship with Alicia. She must have been only fifteen then, judging by the look of her now. But they had never actually spoken.

Despite the brevity of their meetings, he was sure that it was her. Her resemblance to Alicia and George was proof enough in his eyes.

Which begs the question, he mused, tucking his beloved snuffbox back into his pocket. Why is she pretending that she does not know me?

“Your name is…” He struggled to remember it, wishing he had paid more attention during his blasted courtship with Alicia. “It begins with…”

“With all due respect, my name is none of your concern,” she said, beginning to step away from him, her hands raised in defense. She stumbled back into the wall and gasped, before she corrected course. “I am not George’s cousin. You and I have never met. And I doubt we will ever meet again, so…”

Her head whipped around suddenly at the sound of approaching footsteps and voices. They were coming from the boxes.

Philip understood the alarm in her eyes. If anyone from the ton caught them together, there was no telling what gossip they would spread about them—the returned Duke of Darkness and his chosen prey.

He was not in the business of manhandling women, but when she stood there motionless as trouble approached, he knew he had to do something. He wasn’t about to compromise himself for a woman he barely knew.

Glancing behind him, he saw a dark recess in the wall, leading only God knew where. He grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her there, even while one side of his body screamed in protest.

“What are you—” she tried to ask, cut off when he placed a hand over her mouth.

Just in time, too.

Concealing her with his body, Philip looked behind at the open hallway. A group of older gentlemen walked past, laughing amongst themselves. They didn’t stop, which meant they hadn’t seen him, and more importantly, George’s mad cousin.

Her breath was hot against his hand, tickling that naked stretch of skin. His body tensed in response, and he gently let go of her. His body kept them in shadow, barring her exit.

Philip looked down into her startled yet grateful eyes, then dropped his gaze to her mouth. It was stained pink around the edges, as if she had recently worn and removed a rouge. As if someone had just kissed her.

Every one of his hypotheses added to the mystery around her.

Despite the impropriety of their meeting, she didn’t look afraid. How could she not have been afraid of him?

Unless she is afraid of something worse than a scoundrel taking advantage of her.

“Please,” she whispered, so close that he could feel her breath ghost against his face. “Don’t tell anyone…”

Before Philip could ask what he shouldn’t be telling, the young woman pushed past him again, slipping between him and the wall. The faint lavender scent of her perfume clung to his clothes as he watched her leave, disappearing down the corridor toward the boxes without looking back at him.

For a moment, he debated going after her and pressing her for her identity.

Philip didn’t appreciate being lied to, but if she was who he suspected her to be, then he supposed her tyrannous father likely wouldn’t approve of her exploring the theatre without a chaperone.

Did she worry about the earl’s anger more than her own safety?

Could that be why she was so adamant about keeping her identity a secret from me?

He glanced down the corridor, watching her form retreat.

Far be it from me to tell George about her tonight. This will be our little secret. For now.