- - - - -
here i go again
i'm always looking for trouble
'cause i know in the end
i really need the trouble
- - - - -

HER BREATH WAS WARM as it caressed the sculpted curve of his cheek laden with the tempting perfume of alcohol. Hair cascaded in a tangle of raven curls around her shoulders, tickling his jaw and tempting his fingers as she leaned toward him. A slender hand snaked behind his neck, her nimble fingers entwining themselves in his thick hair as she nuzzled her cheek against him. Nonplussed, Nathan reached for the familiar embrace of a tin tankard, allowing his fingers to idly trace the condensation upon warped metal. He was not a stranger to this establishment and knew how to blend in with the locals. His shirttails were loose, their rumpled curves resting on his thigh. He had removed his cufflinks prior to entering for fear they would attract the wrong sort of attention. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows, his hair mussed from where he had run his fingers through it after removing his favorite tweed cap. Smiling his lips brushed against the girls’ ear as he raised the mug for another drink. The bitter liquid burned pleasantly against his throat, bathing him in warmth. “Nathan,” the girl giggled, “you promised.”

Nathan’s dark eyes fluttered closed as he attempted to drown out the girl’s insistence. The bodice of her dress had been pulled daringly low, exposing cream-smooth skin. His fingers blindly traced the unfamiliar curve of her lips and chin, trailing to her exposed collarbone, brushing against a smudge of dirt from the work she had done prior to coming to the pub. Soft white stained the dark fabric of her gown and he had surmised that she worked in a bakery. Fitting, he thought idly as he pressed his lips against her smooth skin and drank in the scent of fresh bread. A soft moan escaped her lips as she leaned back. Even in the dull glow of the tavern he could see the soft flush of pink across her cheeks, desire sparking in her azure eyes. “You won’t forget, will you?” she breathed in hesitant expectation. “Of course not, Miss…” Nathan trailed off, attempting to recall her name.

The girl perched upon his lap was no different from the countless other working-class girls who were desperate to escape their lives. Anything was appealing in comparison to their crowded homes and potato sack dresses. In their world reputation was something readily sold for a loaf of bread or warm broth. Behind the cracked panes of glass lining dismal alleyways lay lives that dreamed of something better – of the prince that would ride in on his white steed and rescue them or a warm blanket to shelter them from the cold. As those girls grew into women they realized the princes of London did not see them, and those that pretended to used them for a night’s pleasure without fear of repercussion. Some chose to accept their fate, marrying the first young man who asked and mothering a new generation of girls to dream of a life better than that of their parents. And then there were the rarest of them all: those who attempted to change their path. These were the girls that found him and his father at the theater, girls like “Elise Reynolds.” Her voice broke through his reverie. A concerned frown pulled at the corners of her ips as she studied him. “You didn’t forget, did you, Mr. King?”

“I could never forget you, Miss Reynolds,” Nathan hastily assured her. “I may be a great many things but I am, first and foremost, a man of my word. If you come to my father’s theater tomorrow I shall arrange for an audition. Convincing him of your talent will rest solely upon your shoulders though.” He kissed the tip of her pert nose. “But I cannot see you encountering any problems there.”

Confusion passed over the girls face as she pulled back. “But I thought you were Mr. King.” Nathan sighed, irritated. He had heard this assumption more times than he cared to count. Were the girls of lower-London really so desperate that they would readily believe that a man of his age could own a troupe of this caliber? A knowing smirk teased the corners of his mouth as he twirled a satin ribbon of her hair around his finger. “I am.”

Elise shook her head. “But I thought…” Nathan pressed his finger to her lips, silencing her. His hand curved to cup the delicate camber of her jaw before smiling gently. “Now, if my father runs the theater it only stands to reason that we would share a name. One day I will be the sole owner of the troupe but until my father’s health fails – which I’m certain is not something you wish upon him…” His smile darkened with challenge. “It is not my fault if you presumed falsely, I was entirely truthful with you.”

The girl bristled, incredulous rage flashing in her eyes. Nathan was tired of the presumptions; of the belief that if a girl gave herself to him the act would guarantee her success on the stage. He wondered if they ever paused to contemplate how many others had behaved the same way or if they truly believed that they were the first to concoct this scheme. They all played their part – the girls cast as the hapless dreamer and he as their escape. For the most part Nathan could read the ever-changing emotions of a woman as clearly as he could decipher a script. He had been surrounded his entire life by women who coddled and praised him; women who elevated him to the status of a prince. The theater girls guarded him, claiming him as their own. He was certain if they paused they would realize that all of their interactions with him followed similar scripts. If nothing else, Nathan King was an exceptional actor. “I am sorry if I said something to mislead you,” he murmured against the soft flesh of her neck. His fingers curled around the grayed fabric that had slipped, revealing her creamy shoulder. He trailed his lips along the gentle curve of her shoulder, smiling as she giggled. “But you’ll remember me after tonight?” she persisted.

Nathan turned his eyes toward hers, losing himself within the depths of her despair. He could feel her tense against him as she waited for his next words. Hope was fragile, a word or action could shatter it beyond repair. “Whoever forgot you in the past, Miss Reynolds, was a fool.”

“That’d be me.” A voice thundered behind him. The sickly smell of an unwashed shirt intermingled with stale ale on the other mans breath assaulted his senses. Nathan raised his brow at the girl before him waiting for an explanation that he knew would never come. The vibrancy of her face dimmed as she struggled to right herself, pushing her sleeves back to cover her shoulders and raising her bodice. Nathan couldn’t help but smirk – whoever this man was, he was certain that he was not entirely surprised to find Miss Reynolds in her current state. Her attempts at modesty were in vain and Nathan recognized the precarious position he was now in. “Agnes,” the girl stammered, “It s’not how it looks.”

“I’d be the best judge of that!” The man staggered forward, reaching for the girl. Nathan watched mutely as the other man twisted her arm behind her back until she whimpered. Her eyes were bright with fear as she implored Nathan to rescue her. It was rare for him to witness the world that drew a girl into the hollow embrace of the theater. He reached for his tankard once more, taking a greedy gulp as he contemplated the best course of action – one that would not result in either him or the girl being harmed. He replaced the now-empty mug on the dirtied bar surface, motioning for the barmaid to refill it. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, Mr.—”

“Reynolds,” came the slurred response. Nathan’s brow rose, the trembling girl before him had not mentioned any family, but then he hadn’t cared to ask. He turned his attention to his shirtsleeve, feigning interest as he plucked imagined lint. “I see. I suppose you and Miss Reynolds are of some relation then?” He smiled warmly, clapping his hands together in enthusiasm. “You must join us, yes? Allow me to buy you a drink.” The man balked, the proposition of a free drink momentarily distracting him. Nathan kept his expression impassive, refraining from looking at the fearful Miss Reynolds as he waited for the man’s response. Part of the ruse was to remain aloof; to show fear would mean that the other man intimidated him. Confrontation was a careful balance of power all it took was as slip from one party to shift the outcome. “She’s ma sistuh,” the man protested. “A most lovely sister at that. She is most fortunate to have a brother such as you. Why, only moments ago there was a man whose intentions were not honorable. I, of course, stepped in to save her from such a vagrant. I apologize for how our interaction must have looked when you encountered us. We had only just met.” Nathan stood, motioning to the refilled tankard. “And now that I am assured of your delightful sisters wellbeing I shall bid you both adieu.” He bowed curtly, reaching for his faded tweed cap from the counter and setting it back into place on his head. “A pleasure, I’m certain.”

As he turned, Nathan breathed a sigh of relief. It was not everyday that he was so fortunate. “Mr. King!” He stiffened at the sound of Elise’s voice but continued walking swiftly away. The façade he had carefully created was in danger of crumbling beneath the weight of the girl’s desperation. Her hand reached out, gripping his untucked shirt hem. “I’ll be seein’ ya tomorrow, then?” Nathan turned as a fist landed squarely against his jaw. Staggering backward, he rubbed his jaw. The metallic taste of his blood filled his mouth. “I thought you said you did’int know ‘er!” The man thundered. Nathan shrugged. “You interrupted us first.” He tossed a lopsided smirk toward Elise whose frantic attempts to calm her brother were to no avail. Tonight would be the last time he made her acquaintance. He winked at her before yelling, “Brawl!” and disappearing into the eager crowd.

Outside the air was still, cool, the murky haze of the pub slipping from his mind as he inhaled deeply. With a sigh, Nathan leaned against the damp brick wall and closed his eyes. His head throbbed with each steady pulse of his heart and he desperately wished he had a cigarette to numb his nerves. Inside there was a loud crash followed by drunken cheers. A soft groan escaped him as he willed himself away from the wall. It would be just his luck if Agnes – the thought of the larger man’s name bringing a breathy laugh to his lips – came in search of him. The night air did much to clear his tumultuous thoughts. With each step he could feel his thoughts sharpen and come into focus once more. He had escaped with nothing more than a split lip, and, before they had been interrupted, had the rapt attention of the most attractive girl in the bar. Holding his arms out, Nathan stared up at the hazy sky and spun in a slow circle. The moon was nothing more than golden haze against the thin film of clouds. This was London in all her glory, he thought as he skipped forward, rejoicing in his good fortune.

A soft cry echoed from the shadows pausing Nathan’s stride. He stood uncertainly as he peered into the inky blackness. There were societal rules here just as everywhere else. While the upper classes were filled with asinine rules regarding gloves and dance cards here the rules were far more basic. The most ardent of them was to keep to your own affairs. A soft female voice carried toward him, her muttered words too faint for him to comprehend. As he turned to leave there was the distinct sound of fabric tearing. Taking a deep breath he ran his thumb over his cracked lip and sighed. He had a feeling he had used up all his fortune for the evening. “Hello?” he called as he stepped into the shadows. “I’m sorry to bother you but I heard a commotion and wanted to ensure everything was in order…” His words stilled as he took in the young girl cradling her foot bandaged foot. Blonde hair fell in wild tendrils where it had come loose from its tie. As she turned her eyes to meet his Nathan saw in the dim light her recognition. While she appeared to be from a dream long-forgotten, he could not shake the eerie feeling that she knew him.

In her eyes he saw the plea he recognized so well, the accusation: you promised.

- - - - -
some things we don't talk about
better do without
just hold a smile
we're falling in and out of love
the same damn problem
- - - - -

SILENCE STRETCHED in the expectant space between them, each waiting for the other to react. The girl seemed to be awaiting his acknowledgment; one that left him perplexed and wanting. Nathan had no delusions regarding how she knew him – there was certainly no shortage of young women in London who could claim that distinction. With each he had vowed to form no attachment; to form a careful barrier before he heard their pitiful story laced with their hopes for a better future. He had made the mistake of getting too close once before and it had cost him deeply. It was a mistake he would not repeat. Companionship was a hollow desire, one that placed restricting chains around a person’s spirit. His own life was testament that you could dispel the ghosts of loneliness without ever forming a connection. That was the life of the theater – that was his life.

“Don’t bother yourself with worry, Mr. King,” came her careful answer. The velvet tenor of her voice brushing against memories he had pushed aside, left in the forgotten corners of his mind. “It would be the first time you’ve ever truly cared about my well-being, and I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.” Her every word stripped him bare, brushing away the cobwebs from embittered memories. His heart beat faster as the pieces of her identity began to clarify. Nathan watched surreptitiously as the girl rose with the grace of a new foal learning to walk. Determination sparked fierce in her eyes, blazing into his with each step. He said nothing, watching the subtle tightening of her jaw as she limped forward clearly favoring her right foot. With each insistent limp the space between them lessened and he could feel his throat tighten until she was directly before him and Nathan realized he had forgotten to breathe. With a trembling hand she reached toward him and he braced himself against her touch. Her fingers traced along his cheek with hesitant delicacy. He closed his eyes unwilling to see the malicious smile that teased the corners of her lips – the smile he had helped place there. “You can’t have possibly forgotten me, Nathan. You made me a promise, remember?” Her breath seared against his ear, hollowly echoing each broken promise he had once breathed to her. “Come to fulfill it?”

All too suddenly her hand fell from the camber of his cheek, coolness reclaiming the place where her breath had once been. Betrayal pierced him, ripping past the lies he had told himself to keep her memory dead. As her name fell from his lips with a soft breath, Nathan knew that try as he might he would never forget Sophronia Arwen. His hands reached to grasp her as she limped away, injured but never broken. He was a fool to ever believe that he could have forgotten her formidable spirit.

From the first moment that Sophronia came to his father’s theater Nathan had known she was different from every other girl before her. There was a confident air to her. In her eyes he found no weakness, instead a determination. Even now as he watched her curl inward on a dirtied cart he saw everything that made her different. It were these subtleties that had drawn him to her before; made him promise her the world. When he had been unable to fulfill the words he’d whispered in earnest she had accused him of treating her like every other girl he coerced. Despite the knowledge that there would never be another person like her, he could not deny her claims. She saw more than most, saw the way the chorus girls doted on him and the effortless flirtations that fell from his lips while with them. Her conclusions were only natural. Nathan could never find the words to tell her how completely lost he felt in her presence.

That was in the past and everything had changed. Gone was much of the innocence that Sophronia had once held in her cerulean eyes. Optimism had been replaced with sardonic humor. The girl he once cared for was gone, replaced by the bitter creature before him. For a moment Nathan King wondered if he had ever known her at all.

Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, Nathan pulled out a simple blue handkerchief. He gently folded it into a rectangle as he made his way to her side, keeping his distance in case she chose to lash out. Her soft hiccuped sobs tore at his foundations, leaving him raw before her. He wanted to gather her in his arms and wipe away her tears. He wanted to erase their past and be the one to help her achieve all she dreamed. But their past lingered and she was not the only one injured by it. No matter how desperately he wanted to run from the past once more he would not leave her alone and without defense. A smirk tugged at his lips – Sophronia Arwen would be a formidable opponent without use of any weapon. “Miss Arwen,” he said formally, holding out the small oblong piece of fabric between them in offering. “Before you react adversely allow me to point out several obvious facts. First, while I’m certain that I am the last person you wish to come to your aide right now, it appears that fate has taken to humor this evening. Do not flatter yourself, I am equally displeased to make your acquaintance once more.” He sighed, willing back the wave of longing he felt as he stared into her tear-stained face. “Second, you would be a fool to remain here alone this evening. We both know the sorts that frequent this area. So, I propose we both swallow our pride this evening and you permit me to assist you. After which time I promise our paths will never cross again.”

He was, after all an actor, and tonight he would play the part she had cast him in.

- - - - -
maybe redemption has stories to tell
maybe forgiveness is right where you fell
where can you run to escape from yourself?
where you gonna go?
- - - - -

HER TOUCH SPARKED electric desire through his veins once more. Each pulse charged with the current of their past. This was Nathan’s drug; his sole desire. Sophronia’s fingers lingered against his skin with the delicacy of butterfly wings, vanishing before their presence was ever acknowledged. It was only in their absence their power was felt. In that moment everything was as it was meant to be between them. Their bruised and contorted history was no longer able to hold them.

All too soon the reality of present crashed around them. His fingers closed in a fist around the vacant feeling left behind by her touch. “Nathan, do you … do you understand how much you…” Sophronia trailed off unwilling to finish her sentiment. Nathan was certain that her skilled articulation was not failing her now – she had always been able to express her deepest thoughts without pausing to consider their destructive power. He had witnessed firsthand how her sharpened tongue could reach deep inside and lacerate the first tender blossoms of love before they had ever truly taken root. He was also painfully aware how her omissions could keep a man up late into the night, his mind awake with unanswered questions. Nothing had been able to numb the feeling her initial departure had caused him. Even now, as he wrapped his arms around the slender waist of a different chorus girl, murmuring hollow words to her ears, it was Sophronia’s soft skin he ached to feel; her soft laugh he craved.

Nathan King understood everything; it was Sophronia who remained clueless.

Before he could express any of his tumultuous thoughts to her, she fell against his chest. Before his mind could react, Nathan hand wrapped his arms around her in a steadying embrace. “Please… I’m not so angry to see you, not nearly as much as I acted. Please forgive me. Please help me.” Her voice wavered as she sniffled against his chest. A reminiscing smile traced the camber of his lips as Nathan stared at her golden hair. He could still feel it as it slipped through his fingers the last time he had held her this close. The stars had sparkled overhead, their ethereal song casting a spell over them both as they had whispered secrets on the roof of his father’s theater. The erratic beat of his heart now echoed the same pattern it had found the last time they had touched. Perhaps, he thought wistfully, its thudding was their song; a perfect duet that could only be found with her. But just as acutely he could remember the day she had left him. Her wild accusations and rage as her bright eyes had flashed. Her emotions had changed more rapidly than the tides.

Sophronia Arwen was an actress, and he had no doubt this was another one of her ruses.

“There, there,” he soothed, gently rubbing her back. “I’ve already pledged my assistance and don’t intend to dishonor my word.” It didn’t matter what she thought of their past, the truth remained that she was the only one to have ever claimed his heart. Though tonight would be their final curtain call, he knew that he would never forget the performance. What had happened between them had been magical and fleeting – but a shooting star against the black expanse of life. He would treasure those moments for their rarity. After tonight, Sophronia would be nothing more than a memory he refused to let die.

Despair washed over him with that thought. He didn’t want to lose her again but didn’t know how to make the girl before him stay. He had never been able to make anyone of importance remain in his life – not Sophronia, his mother, or even Kit, the woman who had raised him. The women in his life were meant to be passing shadows and he had long ago stopped trying to find reasons for them to remain.

Sighing, he drew back from her and studied her tear-stained face. Pulling the cuff of his sleeve over his hand he gently wiped away the tears that rendered him utterly speechless. “The only question remaining,” he said softly, “Is where are you heading this evening?”

But he was wrong. There was an entire lifetime that remained unanswered between them now.