Page 58 of Hit Me With Your Best Scot
Ah, that would be Gavin. Rising, she went to the hallway door. “Have him sent to me in my study. Now. I don’t want to give him time to think up a story.”
She knew Mrs. Jones’s address now, and her place of employment. What she didn’t know—and what she needed to know—was who this woman was, other than an exceptional actress. If Persephone Jones was simply playing the part of a damsel in distress and had thereby caught Coll’sattention, this nonsense needed to end. If there was something more to it all, Francesca meant to discover that too.
Lady Macbeth frequently had a flock of female attendants about her. She had been the queen of Scotland after all, if only for a very short time. Temperance stepped down from the Oswell-MacTaggert coach, Coll on her heels, and looked up to see a pair of broad backs in Clan Ross kilts in front of her, and another two walking up to take the rear guard. With Coll’s brother, Niall, exiting the coach as well, that made six. Six very large, very capable-looking Highlanders, all there for one purpose: to keep her safe.
She wanted to tell Coll all this might be a bit much, but for the moment, she was glad to have them there. If Coll hadn’t been in London, if they hadn’t met, she would likely be dead from that brick-filled bucket, or she would have had to hire someone to protect her. She had no idea how one even went about finding that sort of person.
If perhaps all this had been simply a coincidental string of bad luck, and no one had deliberately run her off the road yesterday, then all of this and the list she’d written out for Coll would be for nothing. A very small part of her clung to that idea, because the idea that someone out in the world wanted to see her dead chilled her to her bones.
“Persephone,” Charlie said, walking up from the depths of the theater as she entered the Saint Genesius with her entourage. “You’re late for your fitting with Beth. Don’t… What’s all this? We’re not taking outside auditions for Scotsmen.”
“We’re nae playing Scotsmen,” Niall commented, narrowing one eye. “WeareScotsmen.”
“Why are there a half dozen Scotsmen backstage, then?” The manager went on, eyeing the lot of them as if they’d risen from the witches’ cauldron to torment him.
“I need to speak to you about that, Charlie,” Persephone returned, releasing her hold on Coll’s arm and putting a hand around Mr. Huddle’s. “In your office, perhaps?”
“Oh, God, you’re not with child, are you?” he asked, putting his free hand over his face. “We have our roster of plays made up for the next year. I coordinated them with Covent Garden and Drury Lane. If you—”
“I’m not with child,” she cut in, her jaw clenching. For heaven’s sake, she was careful about such things. And yes, she and Coll had been intimate several times now, but she could read a calendar. If they remained together, which she hoped they would, in the next week or so he would have to begin wearing a French condom. Her lips quirked. How would he react to that, she wondered?
“Ye want me in there, lass?” Coll asked on the tail of that thought.
Pushing away her abrupt amusement, she shook her head. It felt so odd to racket between terror and fond amusement all in the same few beats of her heart. If not for him—if he hadn’t arrived last night with a healthy dose of logic and caring and arousal—she might well have been on her way to Dover by now, seeking passage to the Continent. She would have surrendered without ever knowing who or why someone was after her.
As she and Charlie headed for his office, Coll barked out orders to his men behind her, stationing them about the theater. All around her, actors and stage crew exchanged curious looks, loudly speculating about why the Highlanders might be in attendance and what it had to do with the play.
“Out with it, then,” Charlie said, freeing his arm to cram himself behind his tiny desk.
“Someone ran my coach off the road last evening.” She pulled her left sleeve up to her elbow, revealing scratches and a bruise.
His face lost its ruddy coloring. “What? On purpose?”
“They rammed us three times, so I’d have to say it was on purpose.” She sank into the flimsy chair opposite him. “Coll is convinced that someone is trying to murder me.”
“It bloody well sounds like it,” Charlie exploded. “Good God.” He pounded his fist on the desk, taking several deep breaths. “I’m actually a little relieved. When I saw you walk in here with those giants, I thought you meant to demand an increase in pay. This is worse, of course, but if I had to offer you more salary, Thomas and Jenny and Gordon would have been right on your heels.”
“I’m glad this is only your second worst nightmare, then,” she said dryly. “But I have to ask you—do you want me to remain here? Honestly, if you please. The next time someone flings a bucket of bricks at me, it might hit someone else.”
The stout theater manager looked at her for a long moment. “Before you came along, Persie, the Saint Genesius did a fair business. But since you’ve been here, there hasn’t been a seat to spare in the entire house. I have the luxury of bringing in traveling troupes while we design sets and costumes the like of which have never been seen before, because I know the seats will be filled when we perform the next play.” He sat back, waving a pencil at her. “That, my sweet, is because of you.”
The chill in her bones began to recede again. “I don’t want to put anyone else in danger, Charlie.”
“Do you know who’s doing this? Did you hop into bed with someone’s husband?”
“No, and no. I have no idea.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “That’s not entirely true. It might have something to do with my time before I came to London.”
“Before you became Persephone Jones, you mean?”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
He offered her a slight smile. “My dear, I’ve been herefor twenty years. I know the name of every actor in every theater and troupe across England. Someone as skilled as Persephone Jones doesn’t justappear—unless she literally sprang out of thin air, fully formed.”
This day was turning out to be full of surprises, and she definitely didn’t appreciate some as much as others. “All this time you suspected, and you never said anything?”
“I don’t know who you were, and frankly, I don’t care. Yes, I want you to stay, even if it means two dozen Highlanders prowling about the theater. Hell, perhaps we can use them as decoration.”
“Thank you, Charlie,” she said feelingly. “Not just for this, but for the past six years. The Saint Genesius has done at least as much for me as you say I’ve done for it.”
