“Yes?” he asked, his gaze meeting hers.
“You should not believe everything Usan tells you. You do have a soul.”
He opened his mouth—to contradict her, she was sure. He seemed to reconsider, however, reminding her of an adult who realized he was being idiotic for arguing with a child.
Never mind. She would teach him. Eventually. If he continued to allow her near him, that is. She wouldn’t think of what would happen if he didn’t. She couldn’t bear to consider the possibility at the moment.
He opened the script.
“Where shall we start?” he asked, looking a bit anxious at the prospect. She smiled.
“At the beginning, of course. She inhaled, as if she breathed the role into her from the fire-warmed air. It didn’t work. She was still Isabel Lanscourt, utterly captivated by the beautiful, hard male creature that stood before her.
“If it be love indeed, tell me how much,” she began.
“There’s beggary in the love that can be reckon’d,” he replied haltingly.
She stepped toward him.
“I’ll set a bourn how far to be beloved,” she said, imperious and soft at once, a queen relishing being conquered.
He glanced up from the page and met her stare, firelight leaping in his eyes.
“Then must though needs find out new heaven, new earth,” he said, his voice a rough caress.
Isabel lost track of time as they brought words to life—words written by a hand that had long ago become dust, but whose voice was as immortal as any in history. Blaise was as wrong in saying he was
n’t an actor as he was in saying he possessed no soul. Even though he made it clear he was merely reading the lines to help her practice, she was stirred by his deep, rough, resonant voice.
She glanced around in disappointment when the spell was broken by a knock at the door.
“Here you are! I thought I’d lost you,” Margaret said when she opened the door and saw Isabel standing there. She glanced anxiously at Blaise and back to Isabel. “How in the world did you get in here?”
“I have my ways.” She gave a sunny smile, which Blaise returned with a wry glance. Her buoyant heart slipped a little, however, when he closed the script with an air of finality and handed it to her.
“I have little doubt of it. But I can be distracted—however pleasantly—from work for only so long.”
“Keep it. I will need to practice again tomorrow,” she added when he arched two raven-dark brows.
“Surely you should practice with whoever has the part,” he said, walking behind his desk and sitting down. He tossed the script onto the blotter.
“The director hasn’t assigned the part yet,” she said.
“And who is the director?” Blaise asked.
“Isabel is,” Margaret said from across the room where she was fussily fluffing a pillow on the couch.
“You told Margaret I may choose the cast and crew, and I’m a woman of many talents,” Isabel told Blaise when he gave her a questioning look.
Then, it happened. Blaise Sevliss, Lord Delraven, smiled. If she hadn’t been utterly his prisoner before, Isabel became it completely in that moment.
“I have little doubt of that, either,” he said.
“So I can return tomorrow? To practice the lines until I decide on someone for the part of Marc Antony? It’s a very big decision, you know.”
Something fluttered in her belly when he frowned and hesitated as he picked up his pen.
“Very well. But leave me now,” he said gruffly. He began writing and didn’t look up, but Isabel refused to allow her mood to be dampened. She’d been uncertain of her mission in seeking out Lord Delraven today, but there could be little doubt she’d succeeded in it, nonetheless. She winked at a dumbfounded-looking Margaret before she followed her out of the room.