A Mummers' Play Read Online Free Page A

great-aunt of his who Maplethorpe said always attended this Christmas gathering. “Lady Dreckham.”
    “Great-aunt Caroline?” Something in his tone let her risk a peep at him. She was right, his anger was fading. “Do you have the misfortune to be that woman’s companion?”
    Justina looked down again, knowing how easily eyes revealed a lie. “Yes, your grace.”
    “Poor you.” His tone was markedly more sympathetic. “She could have played the dragon’s part in the mummers’ play, couldn’t she? Well,” he added, with a startling touch to her bare hand,” ’tis the season for entertainments, it would seem. Let’s pretend we’re in a new play, one where a poor companion and a duke can meet as equals. Join me in some wine.”
    Alerted by touch and tone, Justina looked up to find that he really was smiling at her. It was not the wild smile he’d worn while cheering on St. George, but a charming one with a certain wistfulness behind it.
    Now she did step back, away from both touch and smile, clutching the book to her chest like a shield. “Oh, I couldn’t, your grace!”
    “Scared?” He moved away, strolling lazily toward a tray holding decanters and glasses. “Yes, I’m a little drunk—I had to deaden my senses in some way—and I intend to become more so. But I’ve never been a bad drunk. I become a bit silly, and inclined to be indiscreet . . .” He stopped speaking to pour amber fluid into two glasses.
    Justina, however, had the feeling that the action was the excuse for the pause rather than the reason for it. What in his words had so distracted him?
    Her nerves were settling now he’d moved away, and so her wits were returning to their normal sharpness. He’d accepted her story. First skirmish to her. And drink made him indiscreet, did it?
    If Lucky Jack Beaufort was about to be indiscreet, Justina Travers would be here to witness it!
    He turned, glasses in hand, and if he had been disturbed in some way he’d overcome it. “Because of the indiscretion, I haven’t touched more than a sip of wine in three years. I’m making up for lost time. The freedom to get thoroughly foxed is the only advantage I’ve found in my change of circumstance.”
    With another disturbingly charming smile, he offered one glass to her.
    Justina took it with what she hoped was an appropriate simper. If her imaginary Esme Richardson had actually found herself sharing wine with a duke late at night in his private apartments, she would certainly simper.
    Miss Esme would probably run screaming from the room, but that didn’t suit Justina’s plans at all.
    She sipped the wine and let out a genuine gasp. “Oh, my! What is it?”
    “Port.” That smile still lingered, muted in intensity but not in effect. “A new experience for you?”
    “Yes, your grace.” It wasn’t a lie. “It tastes very strong.”
    “I suppose it is, but I assure you, on my honor, that one glass will not turn you into a wanton woman. Won’t you be seated?”
    A titter seemed to be in order, so Justina let one out as she perched on the edge of the seat of an uphol-stered chair by the fire.
    He took the other chair with all the lazy elegance of a man in fine physical shape who was master of all around him.
    Simon would be in equally fine shape but for him, Justina reminded herself. She needed to prick her mind back to its target, for her image of Lucky Jack Beaufort did not accord with this pensive, friendly Duke of Cranmoore.
    Downing half his glass in one gulp, he studied her with those shrewd, experienced eyes. “Now, my companion-in-mischief, what is your name?”
    “Miss Esme Richardson, your grace.”
    “Esme.” Perhaps there was
a slight slur on it. The sooner he became indiscreetly drunk, the happier Justina would be. “A lovely name. You must have Scots blood.”
    “My mother, your grace.” To be thorough, Justina had devised a complete life history for her character, but she hadn’t expected to have to produce it in a