William Shakespeare has fallen in love with the beautiful Marietta DiSonna. Her fiery heart has inspired his sonnets and her steady gaze, his plays. But what Shakespeare doesn’t know is that all the men and women are merely players in a grand production, and even Marietta is acting a role. Unless Shakespeare can seduce her in return…
TABITHA ROSS has an MFA in creative writing. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband.
“NICO!” THE TERROR in Marietta’s voice made street vendors jump out of her way as she tore through London’s East End, falling over herself. Damn her petticoats—and, for that matter, her corset. She could hardly breathe well enough to run. And she had to get to the tavern as fast as she could.
She bore through the stifling summer heat, and raced across Whitechapel Street, barely avoiding a horse-drawn carriage. The wheels clattered on cobblestones, the horse whinnied, and the carriage driver cursed her to the heavens.
But she didn’t look back. Her long dark hair came loose from its pins and fluttered behind her as she flew.
Marietta’s brother, Nico, had bragged about playing the odd hand of cards with the playwright Christopher Marlowe, but she’d thought the source of that bragging had been the bravado of a young man. Until now, she hadn’t understood what a large debt Nico owed. What if she was too late?
She tore past the stall of a clothing vendor, batting away brightly colored scarves, and ignored the shouts of a few drunks who swayed as she sped by them: M’lady, why do you run from me?…come back to me, princess…
Only a little bit farther, and…there it was: the White Hart Tavern. The place where Nico had been gambling away what little money they had earned, and then some.
Marietta burst through the door and squinted in the bright room. There was a deafening sound of chatter; men were gathered around a spectacle of some sort. For a moment, she felt disoriented, and then she knew. With a strength she didn’t realize she had, Marietta shoved two burly men out of her way and forced her way through the crowd. There he was.
“Nico!” Her little brother, barely seventeen and with hardly a hair on his chin, had his back to the wall. He was cornered by another man. The crowd backed away, leaving Marietta in the middle of the circle with the two of them. The other man turned around, revealing his youthful countenance. He wore an expression of wry wit. Nico’s mouth, on the other hand, was set in a thin, brave line. He looked terrified to Marietta.
“Pray tell, is this who has come to your rescue, Nico?” Marlowe said. “Ask the broad if she has any money.”
Nico stammered. “Sir, she doesn’t. But with just a little more time—”
The room fell silent as Marlowe drew a knife from its sheath on his hip. The sharp blade flashed in the light. He took another step closer to Nico. “You’ve had enough time,” he said.
“STOP!” MARIETTA CRIED, and before she even knew what she was doing, she was in between the two men. The knife point was only inches from her face.
Behind her, Nico’s breathing came in gasps. “What are you doing?” he whispered.
Marlowe lowered the knife. “Get out of the way!” he said roughly. “I shan’t harm a woman, but a mouthy one does not warrant my good graces. You’re only postponing what I’m going to do to this lad.”
“Don’t hurt him!” Marietta pleaded. “He’s my younger brother, and he’s but a child. I will find a way to pay you back for everything; but for today, leave him be.”
At this, Marlowe let out a short bark. “Dear lady, your passion is to be admired, but your brother here owes me more than you can ever give.”
Nico grabbed one of Marietta’s wrists in an effort to move her out of harm’s way. She wriggled it out of his grasp and looked Marlowe in the eye. The man was young, with pale, smooth skin and not a wrinkle on his face. He couldn’t be so hardened and cruel as not to care whether he killed a man, could he? After all, he was only a playwright. Though a good one, Marietta thought, because she had witnessed his players at the Rose Theatre. With relief, she felt his threat was nothing but the well-played bluff of someone trained in the dramatic arts.
“How can you be so sure?” she asked.
Marlowe was taken aback by her gall. “I beg your pardon?”
“Are you sure my younger brother owes you more than we could possibly give you? There are things more valuable than gold to be won at cards.”
At that, the bar erupted in laughter. Marietta couldn’t help but blush as men in the crowd shouted their lewd suggestions for her repayment. Marlowe threw back his head and laughed at first, but after a moment, he looked at her thoughtfully. She saw the gleam in his eye and felt relief.
Ignoring the jostling around her, she said, “I can sew anything you like, or Nico can work for you—we can clean and run errands. You only need to tell me how my brother and I can barter away these foolish debts.”
Marlowe grabbed Marietta by the arm, gripping her a little more tightly than she would have liked. “Come this way,” he hissed. He led her through the crowd, beckoning Nico to follow.
The men in the tavern dispersed to their various tables when they realized there would no longer be a fight.
Marlowe brought them to a table in the back corner. He pulled out a plain wooden chair and roughly maneuvered Marietta into it. She took a deep breath. Her upper arm felt sore where Marlowe had grabbed it, but she ignored the pain because she didn’t want him to know about it. Nico sat beside her, eyes downcast. She was aware of his shame, but at the same time, she was too angry to look at him. Across from them, Marlowe beckoned the pretty barmaid over with a finger.
“A drink for the lady?” he asked Marietta, ignoring Nico.
“Nay, thank you. I don’t believe we’ll be staying,” she said. She didn’t frequent taverns. In fact, she’d never been inside the White Hart. She’d only heard tell of her brother’s visits to this lowly place full of drunks and cards. She wrinkled her nose. It smelled strongly of brew.
The barmaid brought Marlowe a pint of ale and he took a long pull of the drink before setting the pewter tankard aside and leaning his elbows on the table. “There is something you can do to absolve your brother of the debt he owes me,” he said. “However, it will not bode well for your reputation.” He smirked. “Although for you in particular, that should matter naught.”
Marietta kept her features neutral. It was well known about town that she and Nico had been orphaned at a young age, and that she supported them with her work as a seamstress, while he worked as a stable boy for a wealthy family and ran odd jobs on the side. Unfortunately, it was also a well-known fact that Nico frequently gambled their money away. Her brother had always been impulsive, but otherwise, she would not be shamed for a faultless situation or her honest work.
Nico reacted with less composure. “How dare you insult my sister?” He jumped up, ready to leap across the table, but Marietta already had him by the wrists.
“Sit down!” she hissed.
“Knives wound; words do not!” He thumped his fist against the table and glared at Marlowe, but he stayed sitting.
Marlowe ignored Nico and continued speaking to Marietta. “As you know, I am known for putting on plays at the Rose, but another playwright is adored as well—William Shakespeare.”
Marietta nodded. She had heard of Shakespeare’s plays, of course, though she had never been to see one. She loved the theatre, but attended only on special occasions, when she had a little money to spare.
“You know of him?” Marlowe asked her, impatiently.
“I’ve heard tell of his wit, but I haven’t yet seen his face,” she answered carefully.
Marlowe studied her while he took another swallow of his drink. “You’re a beautiful woman,” he observed.
Marietta stiffened.
Beside her, Nico fidgeted, but this time, said nothing.
Marlowe continued, “Shakespeare is notorious for romancing many beauties. I need you to find him and get into his good graces. He is working on a new play. As soon as you convince him to trust you, steal the play and bring it to me.” His lip curled. He had a persistent, watchful expression, like a cat who had spotted a mouse in the corner.
Marietta didn’t hesitate. Tricking a playwright out of some pages was far less of a crime than allowing her little brother to be stabbed over a game of cards. She felt nothing but contempt for Marlowe, whose collar appeared to be stained with ale and who admitted to stooping so low as to secretly rely on the writings of others to serve his own vanity. But she would perform his dirty work if it meant protecting sweet Nico, her dear brother and only family member.
“I’ll do it,” she said.
Nico could no longer contain his outrage. He leapt up. “Rogue!” he shouted at Marlowe. “You shan’t use my innocent sister as your pawn! I’d sooner duel to the death!”
The tavern fell silent. Heads turned. Marlowe stood and put his hand again on his knife, but Marietta grabbed Nico by the arms.
“He will not duel,” she said firmly to the playwright. “I will do as you say,” she added in a whisper.
Then she turned to Nico and said, “You’ve done enough already. Go before you get both of us killed, or so help me.” She pushed him toward the door, amid the jeers and laughter. The men ridiculed Nico for being saved by his sister.
He stumbled out into the last light of evening and turned toward her, his face contorted with shame and anger. “Marietta, you shouldn’t have come. I won’t let you take part in this sordid affair.”
She felt her chest tighten, as though the wind had been knocked out of it. “You won’t let me? How’s that for thanks!” she said. “Do you think you’d not be bleeding all over the dirt of this alley if I hadn’t arrived at this tavern?”
“It’s not your affair!” he shouted.
“Keep your voice down,” she said. “It has become our affair now. We must get you out of trouble.” She began walking in the direction of their small cottage. Nico followed.
“I forbid it,” he said. “I forbid you to meet with Shakespeare.”
Marietta stopped. Nico’s lip trembled. For all his bravado, he looked like the scared little boy she had once rocked back to sleep after his nightmares. And yet he had never raised his voice against her this way, acting as though he had the authority to control what she did.
Marietta steeled her spine and eyed him coolly, though it pained her to fight with him.
“I have no choice but to protect you however I can, and if that’s not to your liking, you should consider your choices before you play cards with the devil.” She spoke the words sharply because she could see in her brother’s eyes that he was still full of fire.
She would have to find a way to seduce the playwright Shakespeare without her brother’s knowledge, and quickly, before Nico did anything rash.
THE NEW GLOBE Theatre was noisy and full of people from all walks of life. The aristocrats gleamed in their finery from the balconies, and the many people standing in the courtyard jostled each other for a good position. Marietta and her friend Celia had purchased seats in the gallery for a penny more, but Marietta was thankful to have a little rest.
She drank in the excitement. She loved the theatre. It was invigorating: all that chatter before the curtains lifted, and then the hush as the audience escaped together into a fantasy.
“Have you seen the Lord Chamberlain’s Men before?” Celia asked. Marietta had managed to convince her to take a few hours away from chores. She sat next to Marietta, fanning herself as beads of sweat appeared on her porcelain skin. Marietta knew that Celia fancied that using the fan made her look like a fine lady, but it only made her look like a seamstress who was sweating. The humidity caused the tendrils of her thick blond hair that had escaped from her braid to curl around her face.
“I haven’t seen them, although I’ve heard they’re quite good,” Marietta answered. “Have you?”
“Oh yes; I saw a historical performance, Julius Caesar. I stood that time and it was terribly long. But this is a comedy?”
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I do hope it’s funny. I could use some levity,” said Marietta.