Read Online To Tempt the Devil (A Novel of Lord Hawkesbury's Players) by C.J. Archer - Free Book Online

concentrate on his words. He was saying something about her grip…or was it hip?
    His thumb stroked hers for no discernible reason she could determine but it felt…wonderful. Comforting. Her heart slowed to a steadier rate but each thump was just as violent, just as bone-jarring.
    His other hand rested on her waist and she adjusted her stance to better fit against him. Or did he do the adjusting somehow? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except those hands, the solidness of him, the feeling of being cocooned by a powerful man.
    “Good,” he murmured into her hair above her ear. “Very, very good.”
    His words sent a jolt through her. What was she doing? Rafe was dangerous and almost a stranger to her.
    He was also James’s brother.
    She pulled away and dropped the sword onto the rushes. “I’m sorry,” she said although she had no idea what she was sorry for. What had happened was entirely his fault. Most definitely all his fault.
    She bent to pick up the sword but he caught her wrist. “Lizzy.” His eyes were half-closed like he was just waking up.
    Then all of a sudden he shook his head and let go of her. His chest rose and fell like he’d been laboring long and hard. “I should go,” he said gruffly, turning away.
    Oh. Well. Good.
    Except there were some tasks she could set him doing, tasks that required strength and an extra pair of hands. Big, capable hands…
    Like showing her how to hold a broadsword.
    She cleared her throat. “Rafe, would—”
    “You!” shouted Roger Style from below. “Bloody pig’s pizzle! Get out of my theatre!”
    The sound of wood shattering sent Lizzy running for the stairs. Rafe was a step ahead of her.

CHAPTER 4
    “I said, get out of my theatre!” Roger stood with hands on hips, feet apart, and chin thrust forward in the classic hero pose for which he was famous. An audience of mostly groundlings paying a penny for entry would have gasped or cheered, but an audience of players who knew him well simply shook their heads.
    “He’s not the only pizzle in this room,” Freddie muttered.
    Roger ignored him. The short, flat-faced man he confronted laughed so hard it became a snort. He must be Gripp. The only other man Roger would order to leave was the lead actor and cosharer of the Lord Chamberlain’s Men, Richard Burbage, and the newcomer wasn’t he.
    “It’s not your theatre,” Gripp said, smiling beneath a long, drooping moustache. “It’s Henslowe’s.”
    It was true. Lord Hawkesbury’s Players leased the Rose off the Admiral’s Men and their manager, Philip Henslowe. Both companies performed there several times per week, often one after the other. It made for a crowded tiring house at times.
    Roger took a step toward Gripp and kicked aside the pieces of a stool which had suffered most from his tirade. “If you don’t get out,” he snarled, “I’ll kill you.”
    Lizzy exchanged a worried glance with Antony on the other side of the room until Rafe gently drew her behind him. If it had been anyone else she would have dug her elbow into his ribs and chastised him, but since it was Rafe she simply stepped out from his shadow.
    “Steady, Roger,” Edward said to his brother. “We don’t want a scene here. The audience will be arriving soon.”
    “I don’t give a toss about the audience,” Roger said without moving his jaw or lips. “I want this man gone from my presence. He’s poisoning the air of this hallowed theatre.”
    “You’re an arse,” Gripp said. “And you couldn’t kill a bee if it stung you on that beak of a nose.” He rocked on his heels, looking pleased with himself. “Now, care to know why I’m here?”
    “No,” Roger, Edward, and Henry said at once.
    “I’m here to tell you The Spoils of War has been banned.”
    “Banned!” Roger bellowed.
    “Why?” asked Henry.
    “It’s a vile piece of work,” Gripp said.
    “Vile!” Roger huffed and snorted and wagged a finger at his nemesis. “How is it any different from any