Edward hesitated for only a moment. He couldn’t afford to let her go. The last thing he had thought he wanted was a pampered, privileged Society lady to play his Rose, and yet against every instinct, when he thought of Rose, he couldn’t get the image of the Honorable Fenella Grantley out of his mind. It had been like that from the moment he first saw her at some dance on his one and only foray into Society’s brittle playground. Sapphire and its main character were becoming solid, taking shape on the page, and for some extraordinary reason, the moment he laid eyes on Fenella Grantley, she became inseparable from Rose.
He moved swiftly after Fenella, drawing level with her again, putting a hand on her arm. “Please, just listen to me, just for a minute.”
His tone was so different from the mocking sarcasm of earlier that she slowed almost involuntarily, glancing up at him again. Those blue eyes were different, warm, amused and most definitely penitent. “I was horrid, I know. Please forgive me. Sometimes, when I’m particularly anxious about something important, I can’t seem to help myself. I become most unpleasant to people.”
“I see,” Fenella said dryly. “And is this unfortunate change of character a frequent occurrence, Mr. Tremayne?”
He ran a hand through the disordered thatch of hair, pushing it off his forehead. “I deserve it, I know. But could we go somewhere warmer while you excoriate me?” A violent gust of wind whistled around the corner of Bloomsbury Square as if in punctuation.
Fenella felt an absurd urge to laugh. Not for one minute did she believe the humble penitent side of Edward Tremayne, but she found herself both intrigued and amused by it. A sufficiently novel feeling these days for her to want to indulge it.
“You may buy me a cup of hot chocolate, Mr. Tremayne. There’s a café on the far side of the square.”
He bowed with a flourish. “You do me too much honor, ma’am.” He offered his arm with an air of scrupulous formality.
Fenella slipped her gloved hand inside his arm and, feeling very much as if she was acting a part in some comedy sketch, directed her step to the café in the square.
Edward pushed open the door onto a warm fug of well-wrapped bodies, cigarette smoke and steaming cups. Fenella stepped in ahead of him and he swiftly closed the door before anyone could complain at the blast of cold air.
“At least it’s warm,” she observed, loosening her scarf. It was hard to breathe and she waved a hand in front of her face, trying to clear the air.
“You’ll get used to it in a minute,” Edward told her, guiding her with a hand at her back toward a spare table by the far wall.
Fenella felt that prickle of irritation again. His tone was brusque, dismissive, and that guiding hand was far too familiar a gesture from a near stranger. Nevertheless, she sat down in the chair he pulled out for her and drew off her gloves, picking up the menu in front of her.
“You should undo your coat,” he said, glancing at his own menu. “If you don’t, you won’t feel the benefit when you go outside again.”
Fenella regarded him in astonishment and saw that he was laughing, or at least his eyes were; his mouth had a slightly humorous twist that against her better judgment she found rather attractive.
“At least that was what my nanny used to tell me,” he said, pushing the menu aside.
“So did mine,” Fenella responded, unable to keep the responding amusement from her voice. What was it about him? He could be so off-putting one minute, then the epitome of humor and charm the next.
A harried waitress hurried over to them. “What can I get you?”
“Hot chocolate, please,” Fenella replied.
“Coffee,” Edward stated. He glanced at Fenella. “Anything to eat?”
Fenella considered while the waitress tapped her pencil against her notepad. “Yes. I’d like a toasted tea cake,” she decided.
“Two, then,” Edward told the waitress, who sniffed and hurried away. “I don’t think she’s happy in her work,” he observed drily.
Fenella gave a wry smile. “I can’t imagine why she would be. It must be exhausting, on your feet all day carrying heavy trays, and not everyone’s polite or appreciative.”
“So, the Honorable Miss Grantley has a social conscience,” he said, raising his thick eyebrows.
She frowned. “Must you always sound so unpleasant?”
“Oh, not always, surely,” he protested, eyebrows still raised in a sardonic arch.
Fenella pushed back her chair, setting her hands on the table as she prepared to get to her feet. “I cannot think of a single reason why I should stay here as the butt of your ill-temper.”
He moved, lightning fast, his hand shooting out to seize her wrist. “Forgive me, Fenella, please. Sometimes I just can’t help myself. Please stay and let me redeem myself.”
She regarded him for a moment in exasperation. “Why on earth should I?”
He kept hold of her wrist, although the clasp was light and she could easily free herself. “Because I am truly sorry, and because I want to talk to you about my play, and because I find you . . .” He hesitated, as if looking for words. “Because I find you compelling. I want to get to know you, Fenella. No, I need to get to know you. Please sit down again.”
Every instinct told her to walk away, put him out of her mind, forget about him and his wretched play. And yet she sat down again as his fingers released her wrist. The waitress set their drinks and hot, buttery tea cakes on the table.
“Anything else?”
“No, thank you,” Fenella said swiftly, stirring the thick, dark liquid in her cup with a show of concentration such a simple action didn’t warrant.
Edward said nothing for a moment, cutting his tea cake in half, spooning sugar into his coffee. Finally he said softly, “Thank you.”
“What for?” She took a sip of her chocolate, regarding him through the curling steam.
“For forgiving my rudeness . . . for staying.”
“I may be staying, but I’m not sure I’ve forgiven,” she retorted, turning her attention to her tea cake.
He gave her a rueful half-smile. “Fair enough.”
“We’ve never actually met before, but I’ve seen you several times,” Fenella stated abruptly.
Chapter Two
“Yes, we’ve encountered each other before, but as we weren’t introduced, I’m surprised you remember.” He raised a quizzical eyebrow.
Fenella frowned. “Tremayne?” she mused. “The only Tremaynes I know are Carlton and Julia. Their father is the Earl of Pendleton, but we don’t move in the same circles.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” he responded with his sardonic smile. “I myself find my half siblings thoroughly unpleasant.”
“Half siblings?”
“Yes. I’m what I think is generally known as a by-blow.” His tone was caustic, but he was watching her closely for her reaction.
“Ah, born on the wrong side of the blanket, in other words,” she responded matter-of-factly.
“Precisely. My mother was an actress. Elizabeth Austel—you may have heard of her.” He sipped his coffee.
“Not just heard of her. I saw her Desdemona at the Theatre Royal several years ago. She’s a fine actress.”