London's Leading Lady: A Regency Historical Romance (The Castleburys Book 4) by Jennifer Seasons

Author:Jennifer Seasons [Seasons, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2024-07-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Thatcher stood at the center of the stage as he directed the actors through their scenes. He had a clear vision of how the play should unfold, and he intended to see it realized. But as he spoke, offering instructions and guidance, he felt a pair of intense blue eyes boring into him.

Lottie had arrived at the theatre unannounced, and from the moment she had laid eyes on the rehearsal, it was evident that she was far from pleased with his direction. She stood off to the side, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression one of disapproval.

The tension in the air was palpable as Thatcher’s patience began to wane. He watched as Lottie stepped onto the stage, her determination clear. “Stop!” she exclaimed, her voice cutting through the room.

The actors froze, looking between Thatcher and Lottie with a mix of confusion and curiosity.

Lottie marched up to one of the actors, a tall man with a quiet demeanor. “You, sir, are playing your part all wrong,” she declared.

Thatcher’s jaw clenched as he resisted the urge to interrupt. He knew that this collaboration wouldn’t be easy, but he hadn’t expected Lottie to be quite so…assertive.

The actor, unsure of whose direction to follow, exchanged a bewildered glance with Thatcher. “Um…”

Lottie turned to the rest of the cast. “And you, you should be emphasizing the subtext in this scene, not glossing over it like a schoolboy reciting his lessons.”

Thatcher had had enough. “Lady Lottie, I appreciate your input, but I am directing this play,” he stated firmly.

Lottie spun to face him, her eyes flashing with defiance. “Your direction is leading this play into mediocrity,” she retorted, her voice dripping with disdain.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me, you overinflated scribbler.”

“What did you call me?” A scribbler? “Oh, I beg to differ,” Thatcher growled, ready to do battle over that insult.

Their exchange grew heated, and the actors watched in stunned silence. Rainville, drawn from his office by the commotion, observed the scene with a raised eyebrow. “Is there a problem here?” he loudly inquired.

Thatcher and Lottie both turned to him, their faces flushed with anger and frustration. “No problem at all,” Thatcher replied, his tone laced with forced civility.

“Absolutely none,” Lottie agreed, her voice tight with indignation.

The actors exchanged knowing glances and stifled chuckles at the obvious tension between the two.

Rainville, however, was not so easily fooled. He regarded them both with a shrewd expression. “It’s clear to anyone with eyes that there’s something more than just creative differences between the two of you,” he remarked with a smug, knowing smile.

Thatcher was instantly appalled, his protests of innocence quick and vehement. “Nonsense,” he scoffed.

“Utter nonsense,” Lottie echoed.

Rainville chuckled, seemingly entertained by their denial. “Well, then,” he said. “Let’s get back to work, shall we?”

Thatcher quietly stormed off the stage, his frustration evident in every step. Lottie followed closely behind. “This discussion is far from over, Mr. Goodrich.”

Their fire had only just begun, and the undeniable chemistry between them simmered beneath the surface, waiting to ignite.

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