Free Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy by Judith Gould Page B

all times. But getting them out at will, adding the necessary emotions, and following the stage directions—well, it was simply too much to have to concentrate on all at the same time.
    Frowning, she tapped the open script against her right thigh. Her heart-shaped face was creased with anger and disillusion ment. Could it be that she was trying to force things too much? After all, the rehearsal earlier that afternoon hadn't gone so badly. She'd only needed to be prompted . . .
    . . . only about two dozen times or so. Only!
    Far too often.
    But still . . .
    Wearily she tossed down the script and sank onto a silken red Empire settee which was to be used as a prop. She silently gazed out at the empty theatre. She nodded to herself, already feeling herself relax a bit. Now she could at last take the time to study the little theatre. And what a jewel box it was!
    She marvelled at the unabashed luxury surrounding her. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined such fairy-tale trappings to exist in real life. It was a feast for the eyes. Each seat was Louis XVI in style, handsomely hand-carved and heavily gilded, with plush powder-blue velvet upholstery—a hundred and sixty seats altogether. Added to that was the balustraded, magnificently curved little balcony at the back, a rococo symphony of design which could seat another thirty spectators, as well as the two individual wedding-cake boxes, swagged with rich draperies, which overlooked each side of the stage. Those seated six apiece.
    She shook her head incredulously as the numbers sank in. It seemed unbelievable that this theatre—a private theatre in a private home—could have a capacity for an audience of two hundred and two. Most theatres in the provincial towns they had played were much smaller than this. And nowhere near as lovely.
    Her visual inspection over, she tightened her lips determin edly and pushed herself to her feet. Enough lounging. It was time to get back to work.
    She scooped up the script and once again took her position at centre stage. She stood there for a long moment in the silence, then drew a deep breath.
    '. . .The tears I saw you shed for me, your anxiety over my health, your mysterious visits during my illness . . . your honesty. Your enthusiasm. Everything about you led me to see in you the one I had been calling to from the depths of my loud solitude—'
    From the box above her right came the abrupt claps of lone applause. Startled, she stopped in mid-sentence, took a few steps backward, and looked up. The Prince, dressed in a beautifully tailored charcoal Edwardian suit, was stepping from behind one of the swag curtains. The top half of him seemed suspended in midair; his face was in deep shadow. But his eyes, brilliant and concentrated, conveyed his emotional keenness. Otherwise, his face was carefully composed in an unemotional mask.
    'That was quite an extraordinary soliloquy,' he said softly in the well-modulated speech of the upper class. 'As a rule, I am not taken with theatrical performances. Most of them bore me, put me to sleep, and if they don't, I nevertheless find it difficult to suspend my sense of reality sufficiently to be transported into a world of make-believe. However, you have entranced me. You are quite the consummate actress.'
    Senda bowed her head slightly. 'Your Highness is too kind. It is not I who should take credit for having entranced you, but Monsieur Dumas. Surely it was his writing which appealed to you, not I.'
    'On the contrary, madam. You do yourself a great injustice. You are a very gifted young actress.' The Prince paused, pois ing his fingertips on the gilded railing of the box. 'For a moment you actually made me believe that you were the ill- fated Marguerite Gautier. My heart went out to you.' He stared at her steadily. 'And if you will forgive me for speaking the truth, you are extraordinarily beautiful as well.'
    She locked eyes with him. Despite the shadows, his luminous gaze was so powerful, so