Free Tomorrow's Dreams by Heather Cullman Page A

He was deranged, definitely deranged. How else could he explain the bargain he’d just made with the woman?
    Emitting a snort of self-disgust, he lifted his glass of whiskey in a mock salute to her retreating form, then tossed down the entire contents in one fiery gulp. Not only was he as crazy as a bedlamite; he was an imbecile to boot.
    After Adele had ordered Penelope to go change out of what was left of her costume, she had cordially invited Seth to join her for a drink in the now-deserted variety hall. Determined to get to the bottom of Penelope’s mysterious presence at the Shakespeare, he’d readily agreed. More fool he.
    The woman was shrewd, he’d give her that. So shrewd that he’d been duped into seriously underestimating her cunning, something that seldom happened these days. As a result, she’d not only expertly dodged his questions regarding Penelope, she’d used his obvious interest in the actress to her own advantage.
    Muttering a self-denigrating profanity beneath his breath, he dug his cigar case out of his pocket and snapped it open. The interview had started out innocuous enough, with Madame du Charme graciously inquiring about his comfort at the American House and congratulating him on his purchase of the Shakespeare. Indeed, even their exchange over the agreement between the theatrical company and the variety hall couldn’t have been more genial. Instead of whining or hedging as he’d expected, she merely shrugged and discussed it in a surprisingly philosophical manner.
    Her son, Miles, it seemed, had a problem with gambling: he lost more than he won, and like most compulsive gamblers he truly believed that his next big win was only a card turn away. As a result of his weakness, he’d accrued an immense faro debt during the company’s original week-long run at the Shakespeare.
    To repay his debt, Adele had committed the company to an additional twelve weeks at the variety hall, with the Shakespeare keeping all the monies collected at the door. As she’d so succinctly pointed out, the Shakespeare was coming out on the winning end of the deal, since every performance by Mademoiselle Leroux yielded a veritable gold mine.
    Heaving a gusty sigh, Seth drew his last cigar from the case. In all honesty, he’d been so overwrought at seeing Penelope again, that he’d only half listened to Adele’s inane pleasantries and rote explanations. Like most women he knew, her chatter was agreeable but not particularly stimulating or interesting.
    However, when she’d segued her dialogue from her deal with the Shakespeare to an anecdote about how some man had offered a small fortune for the privilege of dining with—how had she phrased it? Oh, yes—Lorelei Leroux, Toast of the West, she’d done more than stimulate his interest; she’d aroused his jealousy. To Seth’s dismay, her narrative had sent a startling rush of possessiveness through him that he had no right or desire to feel for Penelope.
    As if sensing his mood and correctly guessing its cause, Adele had chosen that moment to deliver her coup de grâce: she proposed that he accept the beauteous Lorelei as his evening companion—his platonic companion, she stipulated—in exchange for reducing their performance obligation from twelve weeks to six.
    Like the fool she’d obviously and, it seemed, correctly taken him for, he’d promptly agreed, never once stopping to consider the havoc such a deal would play with his heart … or his loins. With jealousy masquerading as gallantry, he’d justified his actions by telling himself that he’d be better able to protect Penelope if he kept her close during her hours at the Shakespeare, which he figured was when she faced the most peril.
    Trouble was, he hadn’t stopped to think of his own impetuous feelings or how he would protect himself from them.
    Seth groaned aloud at his own folly. Whatever had possessed him