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

a word to him directly.
    He paused at the gatehouse and scanned the vicinity. Dozens of people walked past, going about their business. Only one was the same height and size as Barker, but the cloaked and hooded figure disappeared around a corner before he could be certain. Rafe kept close to Lizzy and checked and rechecked their surroundings. He spotted the man again when theyreached Newgate. He kept to the shadows, walked with the crowd, and used all the same techniques to look inconspicuous as Rafe would.
    Definitely Barker.
    Time to flush him out.
    Rafe told Lizzy to go ahead without him. He couldn’t pretend that her obvious relief didn’t deflate him somewhat. It seemed she didn’t want his company nearly as much as he wanted hers.
    “Thank you for accompanying me,” she said.
    “No need to thank me. You did all the hard work yourself.”
    “Perhaps. Or perhaps your presence was sufficient to convince him I was right.”
    Great. Wonderful. So he was useful when it came to frightening people, just not interesting enough to have a conversation with.
    He watched her until she was through Newgate’s arch, then he wandered into a nearby alley and waited. And waited. Barker didn’t join him.
    Strange. Barker never slunk away from a confrontation. He liked to state his case and fight. The fact he didn’t only confirmed what Hughe had said—Barker would find a way to hurt Rafe using those he cared about. Thank God Lizzy was gone. Even so, Rafe would follow her, keeping his distance until she reached the tiring house safely.
    But the question remained: Had Barker followed them all the way out to the priory without Rafe noticing? Possible, since he’d been distracted by the way Lizzy responded to Hughe’s flirting. Rafe should have told him she was almost engaged to wed James, only he hadn’t thought about it at the time.
    He seemed to be losing his wits. Ever since Lizzy’s mouth had beckoned him for a kiss over her kitchen table, he couldn’tthink clearly. There’d been a smokiness in those big doe eyes, and for a brief moment he almost believed she desired him more than she feared him. But that was—
    Bloody hell. She was doing it again and she wasn’t even there.
    He was a terrible brother.

    “Walter Gripp isn’t going to hold up any more of our plays!” Lizzy announced upon entering the tiring house.
    Edward looked up from the prompt book. “What do you mean?”
    “I mean I just went to see him and told him Sir Robert Blakewell would be most unhappy to have Min’s plays banned, and he agreed to allow hers through. I don’t believe he’ll allow Jonson’s, however.”
    “Lizzy!” Antony hugged her. “You’re a marvel.”
    “God’s blood!” Freddie whooped. “ You got him to back down?”
    “I did.” She grinned. She could hardly believe it herself. She’d convinced Gripp to back down. Not Edward, Henry, or one of the players, not even Rafe, but her .
    “In that case,” Henry said, crouching down to rummage through a trunk, “we all have new lines to learn.” He pulled out a stack of pages tied together with ribbon. The other players crowded around him, but not before Antony gave her another hug and Edward kissed her forehead. Even Freddie congratulated her on her achievement. Lizzy couldn’t wait to tell Roger. He’d be so pleased. Perhaps he would give her a bonus this month.
    She sat down at the table, picked up the toga that needed mending, and tuned out the players’ voices as they went through their lines. It was easy to do, distracted as she was.And she wasn’t only distracted by her achievement. Her wits had been addled ever since supper the day before. Ever since Rafe had almost kissed her. Indeed, she was so distracted, she stabbed herself twice with the needle and sewed the toga to her own skirt.
    “You are a disaster today,” Antony said, pulling up a stool and sitting beside her.
    “I am?”
    He nodded and held up a bright marigold wig she’d forgotten to arrange.