When You're Desired Read Online Free PDF

“Which one? The lady has two, and there is a vast difference between the elder and the younger.”
    â€œIs there really? Do tell,” said Fitzclarence.
    â€œOne can only hope that His Grace is nothing like his brother.”
    Clare chuckled. “Don’t worry,” he told her cheerfully. “It is not the cursed younger son. I shouldn’t bother if it were only Lord Simon. No, it’s the good one: Berkshire himself, in the flesh, the soft, pallid, unmarried flesh. Here is your golden opportunity. You shall have five minutes at least in which to fix the man’s interest—plenty of time, if I know you.”
    Celia sighed. “I suppose it would be foolish to offend them.” Fitzclarence pulled her, unresisting, to the door. “It would indeed. ’Twould be the height of folly to keep Their Graces waiting any longer. You may be of the aristocracy of talent, my dear, but they are the aristocracy.”
    â€œI do sometimes think the French had the right idea about the aristocracy,” Celia grumbled.
    The Green Room was neither green nor a room, at least not by strict definition. It had neither walls nor a door. Situated off the stage, just out of view of the audience, actors waited there to go onstage during a performance. After the performance, it became a place where patrons of the theatre might mingle with the actors and actresses. In this environment, pretty young actresses could easily meet rich admirers, and rich admirers could easily acquire attractive mistresses. Needless to say, it was not a place much frequented by respectable females. For those actresses who valued their reputations, it was a place best to be avoided. Celia regarded it as little better than a slave market, and those admirers who sought St. Lys there did so in vain.
    Why had the duchess chosen to meet her in the Green Room? she could not help wondering. And why tonight? “Did Her Grace say why this honor was to be bestowed upon me?” she asked aloud, tucking her hand into the crook of Fitzclarence’s arm.
    â€œHer Grace is a lady very much accustomed to having her own way,” he replied. “I’m sure ’tis nothing sinister. I daresay ’tis nothing more than a whim. You’re not nervous, are you?” he asked curiously.
    â€œCertainly not,” Celia replied sharply. Though more than a little unnerved, she was determined not to show it. “I simply prefer to have these things arranged in advance.”
    â€œThis is real life, Celia,” he informed her. “There are no playwrights or stage managers in real life.”
    â€œI don’t need a playwright,” she said, annoyed. “For your information, this ain’t my first duchess. It certainly ain’t my first duke. I just hope they don’t keep me too long. I might faint from hunger.”
    â€œJust be yourself,” he murmured, as they drew closer to the curtain that set the Green Room apart from the rest of backstage.
    She laughed shortly. “Be myself? Are you wise? It’s St. Lys they want, not Celia.”
    â€œAre they not one and the same?”
    â€œLord, no. Chalk and cheese.” Celia paused behind the curtain to take a deep breath, then gave her escort a slight nod. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?” she murmured, fixing her mouth into a smile of supreme confidence.
    The Duke of Berkshire was already on his feet when St. Lys appeared, but he snapped to attention and offered her a full, ceremonious bow. His Grace’s companion, a plump young woman in puce satin, merely stared, her eyes almost starting from her head.
    â€œWho’s the girl?” Celia murmured to Fitzclarence, without losing her smile.
    â€œThat is Lucasta Tinsley, the great heiress. Didn’t I mention her?”
    â€œNo, you did not,” Celia replied, still smiling.
    A chair, or, rather, a throne, had been brought from the property room for the duchess to sit