‘I wish to invest in the Unicorn, Mr Hurst.’
‘Indeed.’ Damn him, he might at least look faintly surprised. How many unmarried ladies did he have coming in offering him money? ‘And what makes you think I require investors, ma’am?’
‘I have heard some gossip to that effect and I should imagine all theatres need funds. And Miss Corwin tells me her father is thinking of investing with you.’ His mouth twisted wryly for a second, whether at the thought of Miss Corwin or of her father, Maude was not certain.
‘And what does your father think of this, might I ask?’
‘I have not discussed it with him as yet. Mr Hurst, I am five and twenty and I have had control of my own money for some time.’ An exaggeration—it was only since last year, in fact, when Papa had recognised that withholding control of it was not going to force her into the marriage with Gareth Morant, Lord Standon.
A gallant man would have exclaimed in surprise at her claiming such advanced years. It surprised Maude herself sometimes to realise how old she was and to acknowledge that most people would consider her almost on the shelf. Eden Hurst made no reference to her age at all. Now, was that galling or refreshing?
‘I have always been interested in the theatre, so this seemed an obvious thing to do. I am not intending to overcommit myself, I realise this is a risky business, however well run.’ That earned her an inclination of his head. Still no smile. The shark appeared to be circling, perhaps puzzled about what kind of prey had swum into its territory.
‘You have been a leading light in country-house amateur theatricals, no doubt, Lady Maude?’ The way he said her name made her swallow hard, every time. It was difficult to define just why. Something about the deep voice, perhaps, the touch of mockery she sensed behind the respectful address. Or was it just that she was so close and they were, at long last, talking?
‘I cannot act for toffee,’ she admitted with a smile. ‘As my family and friends always point out to me. No, my strengths lie in writing and producing dramas.’
‘Well, you are not writing or producing any in my theatre, let us be quite clear about that.’ So, the first sign of hackles rising. She was reminded of prints she had seen of Italian Renaissance princes, hard, handsome, elegant men staring out at the watcher in their pride and their power. Or perhaps, as those dark eyes narrowed and the sensual line of his mouth thinned, he was not an earthly prince, but one of the Devil’s henchmen.
Yes, the Unicorn was very much Eden Hurst’s theatre. ‘I do not wish to, not here—I am quite clear about the differences between amateur and professional theatre. I propose investing a sum of money. Our respective men of business can assess it as a percentage of the value of the business and I will thereafter take the appropriate share of the profits.’
‘Or losses.’
‘Or losses,’ she agreed equably. He had lowered his hands and now each curved over the lion masks at the end of the chair arms. He had big hands, she noticed, with long, elegant fingers. The well-kept nails contrasted with bruises and cuts on the backs of his hands, presumably from handling scenery. The contrast between strength and sensitivity was somehow arousing. Those were the fingers that had held her helpless with such negligent ease. Maude dragged her eyes away.
‘So you do allow a man of business to act for you?’
‘Of course. I believe in employing experts as I need them. Well? Does my proposal interest you?’
He did not answer her question directly. ‘And what involvement will you require?’
‘To see the books. To visit behind the scenes and watch rehearsals. To discuss policy and to put forward my ideas. But hardly to direct policy—you are the owner of the Unicorn, after all.’
There was a tap at the door and it swung open to reveal a large tea tray dwarfing the young woman who carried it. ‘I’ve raided Madame’s best tea, Guv’nor. Tom Gates said to make an effort.’
‘Thank you, Millie. I am sure you have.’ He waited until the door closed again. ‘Perhaps you would care to pour, Lady Maude.’
He waited while Maude busied herself with the tea things, then settled back, his cup unregarded on the desk. ‘How much, exactly, are you proposing to invest?’
She had given it a great deal of thought. Enough to make him take her seriously and to give her an entrée to the theatre and its management. Enough to give her every excuse to enter into his professional life on a regular basis. But not so much she would seem foolish or rash. Maude flipped open her folder and slid a paper across the table. ‘That much.’
There was silence for a long moment. Eden Hurst picked up the sheet and tapped it thoughtfully on the desk. ‘A not insignificant sum.’
‘I am a wealthy woman, Mr Hurst. That is the maximum that will be available. I do not regard this as a frivolous amusement to be pouring money into, you understand.’
‘I do. And you calculated your investment on your understanding of the value of a theatre I own.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I am afraid your research was not thorough enough, Lady Maude. I am not the owner of the Unicorn.’
‘You are not?’ He watched with interest the effect surprise had upon her. Those delicately arched brows shot up, a faint groove appeared between them. Then he saw her begin to think and speculate, the big brown eyes alive with intelligence. ‘It belongs to Madame Marguerite?’
‘No. I have to confess I have no idea who owns it. I deal with their agents, I pay the rent, I observe the lease conditions and I am met with a very polite refusal when I ask to meet their principal.’
‘How very mysterious.’ Another expression, one of lively curiosity, flitted across her face. That lovely visage was as easy to read as a book, but only, he suspected, when she wanted it to be. He was convinced that last night, after he had kissed her, her feelings were far from being reflected in her expression. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if she used that openness as a weapon to make him underestimate her.
Her dazzling smile took him by surprise. ‘Well, then, Mr Hurst, we must buy it.’
‘What? The Unicorn? We must?’
‘Can you afford it alone?’ This was frank speaking indeed. Eden contemplated snubbing her by loftily remarking that he had no intention of discussing his financial position with her, then caught himself. He was enjoying this meeting. There was no one he could discuss business with, not on equal terms. Madame merely wanted to know if there was sufficient money to maintain her lifestyle; his banker and his solicitor expected only to take orders and to offer advice when asked.
The small circle of men he admitted to anything approaching friendship were either too interested in his business for comfort if they were from the merchant class or completely uninterested if they were gentlemen. He had become used to taking all decisions alone, arguing problems out with himself.
And now here was, of all things, a young lady. Bright-eyed, confident, interested and quite unabashed at being alone with a man, speaking of things ladies were simply not expected to understand. And, miracle of miracles, she did not simper, she did not wheedle and she most certainly did not try to cajole.
Eden smiled. Lady Maude blushed, which was unexpected. Hastily he resumed a straight face. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was flirting with her. Not after last night. ‘No,’ he responded frankly. ‘I cannot afford to buy it alone just now. At least, not without committing myself more than is prudent.’
‘And are you always prudent, Mr Hurst?’ There was a laugh lurking in her eyes. Was she thinking about last night? He wished he was not, it was too damn uncomfortable.
‘With money, yes,’ he admitted and the answering smile made the corner of her eyes crinkle.