To Tempt the Devil (A Novel of Lord Hawkesbury's Players) by C.J. Archer

asked.
    “No.” Gripp sniffed. “Now be gone, wench, I have business to tend to.” He looked down at the parchment.
    Rafe snatched it out of his hand. “Listen to her.”
    Gripp’s companions backed away and his bravado faded along with them. “We can talk in my private office.”
    Lizzy and Rafe followed him out of the hall into a small building near the great southern gate. The first room was filled with piles of papers, some bound, stacked on one of the two large desks. A plan of a ship was spread out on the other desk. Gripp didn’t offer them a seat. He stood in the center of the room, arms crossed.
    “Go on,” he said to Lizzy. “State your business.”
    “I want you to leave our company alone,” she said. “The unfortunate matter between yourself and Mr. Style needs to be set aside or you’ll make us all suffer.”
    “Your suffering will make Style’s suffering so much sweeter.” Gripp smirked. Rafe closed his fist at his side. He could wipe that smirk off the prick’s face with one punch.
    “Please, Mr. Gripp.” Lizzy clasped her hands together in front of her, begging.
    Rafe hated seeing her like that, pleading with the little turd. Gripp didn’t deserve it. Nor did Style.
    “Style should not have taken your wife,” she said in a soothing voice he’d never heard before. Not that he’d heard her speak often. Not nearly often enough. “We all acknowledge that he behaved very ill toward you.” Her conciliatory words and gentle tone seemed to calm Gripp. “Style himself is sorry—”
    “Ha!”
    “He is sorry,” Lizzy insisted, “but he’s too proud to admit it. You know what he’s like.”
    Gripp nodded. “He’s a coward and an arse—”
    “Language,” Rafe cut in.
    Gripp pouted. “I won’t release The Spoils of War .” Of course he wouldn’t; that would make him look weak after so vehemently banning it.
    “We don’t want you to,” Lizzy said. “But perhaps you could allow the next play through. It’s by Lady Blakewell and won’t contain anything of a crude or dangerous nature in it. Her husband, Sir Robert, is very well connected.”
    “I know that.” Gripp twisted the ends of his long moustache. Clearly he was pondering the dilemma. He didn’t want to appear to back down from his threats to Style, but Minerva Blakewell’s husband was indeed influential. He was a favorite at court and was said to have played an important role in the Armada’s defeat a decade ago.
    “Please, Mr. Gripp. I promise you shall not have to see or hear from Mr. Style again. We will all do what we can to keep him from your presence.”
    If Gripp didn’t capitulate after that plea, Rafe really would give him a bloody nose to remember them by.
    But Gripp nodded and said, “If Mistress Blakewell’s play is as clean as you claim, I will not stand in its way. Sir Robert would have my head if I did.”
    Lizzy rocked on her heels and gaped at Gripp. “Thank you, Mr. Gripp, I appreciate you listening to me.”
    Rafe followed her out of the office, leaving Gripp behind. “The Crown should employ you in a diplomatic role,” he said as they walked beneath the gate’s arch. “England might become the most powerful nation in the world if you were let loose on our enemies.”
    She bit her lip, suppressing what he assumed was a smile, but it didn’t suppress the light in her eyes. They danced with happiness.
    “You shouldn’t do that,” he said.
    “What?”
    “Stop yourself smiling or laughing.”
    Her eyes shadowed. “Oh.”
    Bollocks. He’d said something wrong. Again. It seemed he couldn’t say the right thing around Lizzy. She must think him a thug compared to the actors, and beside Hughe he certainly must seem dull. It had been obvious that she’d liked Hughe, but then women usually did. It had never bothered Rafe before, however.
    Perhaps it was because her shyness had only lasted a few minutes in Hughe’s company, whereas Rafe had been with her for hours and she’d hardly spoken