Free Playing with Fire by Sandra Heath Page A

adored J,
    My heart is filled with love as I sit here opposite your box. I see only you, not great Garrick’s last glory. You are so near and yet so far, but soon we will be together forever. My decision is made. I will slip away from E directly after the performance is ended. There will be no going back.
    F.
     
    Tears shimmered in Sir Julian’s eyes. That night had seen the last moments of reckless hope, the last sighs of foolish abandonment, for as the final curtain came down upon the stage, her husband took cruel delight in revealing that he knew of her illicit love affair. Esmond then told her the shocking truth that changed everything. So few words were needed, just the plain, unpalatable facts, and as the audience rose to cheer Garrick’s parting speech, Felice, Countess of Sanderby, had fallen in a faint from which it took much sal volatile to bring her around. From that moment on she had been bound to her despised husband as surely as if with iron chains. Only one person in the world did she place before herself, before even the lover she had so nearly gone to, and that was her child. Randal Fenworth, so mean hearted and despicable, did not deserve such a mother, but even he would have ceased to be of such importance if—
    Someone coughed. “Begging your pardon, Sir Julian, but Lord Sanderby has called.”
    “Eh?” Sir Julian hadn’t heard the footman enter.
    “Lord Sanderby has called, sir.”
    What now? Sir Julian composed himself as he replaced the handbill in the pouch.
    “His lordship respectfully requests a few moments to speak with you about arrangements for his forthcoming marriage to Miss Amanda,” the footman explained.
    “Very well, show him in. But if he should still be here in ten minutes, be sure to remind me it is time to prepare for my very important appointment in the city.”
    “Yes, sir.” The footman began to withdraw, but then he remembered something else the caller had requested. “Begging your pardon again, Sir Julian, but his lordship trusts the cat will not be present.”
    “Does he, be damned? Well, he can trust away, for Ozymandias stays.”
    “Yes, sir.” The footman bowed and went out.
    Sir Julian tossed his napkin on the table, rose from his chair, and addressed the cat on the windowsill. “Ozzy, there is more bacon fat for you if you make yourself useful while this fellow is here.”
    The door opened again, and Randal was shown in, his gilt spurs clinking on the marble floor. He was dressed to ride in Hyde Park, in a dark green coat, dull golden waistcoat, and white breeches, although riding was one of his least favorite pastimes. His fair hair was tied back with a ribbon that matched his waistcoat, and his starched neck cloth was an intricate work of art. An indifferent horseman at the best of times, he was nevertheless prepared to obey the rules of fashion by being the peacock in Rotten Row. To this end he was so perfectly turned out that a hair out of place would have ruined the effect. What would also have ruined the effect would be a horse that showed any sign at all of blood or spirit. However, in the bay gelding now attended at the front entrance by one of Sir Julian’s grooms, he had found a mount that pranced a lot, but was actually quite docile.
    He waited until the door was closed behind him, then sketched a stylish bow. “Good morning, Sir Julian. I trust you had a good journey from the coast?” he greeted, his eyes and nose initially quite unaffected by Ozzy’s close proximity.
    “I think you already know how my journey went, seeing you followed me for a while,” Sir Julian replied, going to the fireplace and standing with his hands clasped behind him.
    “Followed you?” Randal was all innocence. “If you were followed, it was not by me.” Ozzy chose that moment to jump up onto the table. Ginger fur floated invisibly, and Randal’s nose immediately began to react, and he reached hastily for his handkerchief. “Dab it all, Richardson. I bade it