Page 11 of Of Lies and Earls (Inglorious Scoundrels #2)
H onoria sat at the edge of the theater box, watching the stage in awe. She had not been to the theater in—well, years. It had certainly changed. It seemed grander somehow, more glittering, the costumes brighter, the music louder—although it had to compete with the constant chatter from the audience.
That, at least, hadn’t changed. People still attended the theater to gawk at others, show themselves off, and, most importantly, share gossip.
Honoria’s aim was the contrary. She needed neither to see nor speak to anyone—and more importantly, not to be noticed by anyone.
She wore a dark brown gown that Lady Somerville had insisted on purchasing for her. Honoria had managed to choose the dullest color and design, allowing herself to blend into the shadows.
On stage, Josephine Claremont, Viscountess Gage, moved gracefully. That was another thing that had changed. Who knew the nobility were now allowed to perform on a grand stage?
Honoria leaned forward, transfixed by the raw emotion. The music swelled around her, and for those precious moments, she forgot herself, her circumstances, and everything but the beauty before her.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Elise clasped her hands together.
“It’s magnificent,” Honoria whispered back. “Viscountess Gage brings so much emotion to the role. So much dignity.”
“Dignity?” Lady Somerville snorted. “It’s a travesty, that’s what it is—for a viscountess to prance about on stage! For shame.”
Elise and Honoria exchanged silent glances filled with laughter.
“I should like to meet her someday,” Elise said, turning toward her guardian. “Uncle Caldwell, would you arrange it?”
Lord Caldwell frowned and opened his mouth to answer, but before he could utter a word, Lady Somerville interrupted him.
“I would hope not, my dear Elise. You need to keep respectable company only.”
Caldwell cleared his throat. “Perhaps later.”
“Yes. Much later,” Lady Somerville echoed. “ After you are married.”
The final notes of the music faded, and the curtain fell, prompting applause throughout the theater. The lights brightened, and Honoria instinctively shrank back into her seat.
“Thank God it’s over,” Lady Somerville announced, adjusting her gloves.
“It’s only the first act,” Elise protested.
“I know, dear. I’m upset about it, too.”
“No, I quite liked it,” Elise countered, but Lady Somerville wasn’t listening any longer. The curtain to their box opened, revealing visitors.
“Lady Somerville! How delightful to see you!” A silver-haired woman in lavender silk swept in, followed by another elegant matron and two young ladies, barely twenty. “Lord Caldwell, a pleasure.”
“Lady Crosby,” Lady Somerville replied with genuine warmth. “And Lady Royston as well. A pleasure indeed. And these must be your granddaughters?”
The ladies descended upon Lady Somerville and Lord Caldwell, barely acknowledging Elise and Honoria. The younger ladies immediately surrounded Lord Caldwell, while the older ladies exalted their virtues.
Lady Somerville smiled with poorly disguised satisfaction as she watched it all unfold.
Honoria shrank farther into her seat, wishing the floor would swallow her whole.
Elise leaned toward her and whispered, “Nory, would you like to take a turn about the theater with me? I’d like to see the Grand Foyer before the second act.”
Honoria hesitated, caught between staying trapped in the box amid Lady Somerville’s obvious scheming and risking being discovered elsewhere. She could be recognized here too, especially if the wrong people entered the box. And unlike in the busy foyer, escape from this little box would be far more difficult.
“Yes,” she whispered. “That would be lovely.”
“Aunt Claire,” Elise said, raising her voice slightly. “Miss Hartwell has kindly agreed to show me the architecture of the foyer. We shall return shortly.”
Lady Somerville glanced at them and gave a curt nod. “Very well, dear. Do not wander far.”
As they slipped from the box, Honoria caught Lord Caldwell’s rather panicked gaze. Or perhaps she was assigning her own feelings to his innocuous expression.
“Thank you, Nory,” Elise whispered, linking her arm through Honoria’s once they were in the hallway and tugging her along. “How am I supposed to find friends during my Season if girls my age keep gawking at my uncle?”
Honoria’s lips twitched into a smile. “I suppose your only hope is that Lady Somerville’s machinations work, and he finds a bride this year.”
Elise wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure I’d want that either. I’d rather he married once I’m out of the house. I dread the thought of living with a girl my age as my guardian’s wife.”
That was the last thing Honoria wanted to talk about. Her heart ached at the very thought. Yet she found enough wit to joke, “Well, that would be one way to find a friend.”
Elise let out an infectious, sonorous laugh that Honoria couldn’t help but join.
“I would rather Uncle married you,” Elise said, giving her arm a gentle squeeze.
Me too. Honoria chuckled, unable to determine whether Elise was serious or merely joking.
They made their way down the curved staircase into the main foyer, where the crush of society’s elite was almost unbearable. Honoria kept her gaze modestly lowered, focusing on walking beside Elise rather than meeting any faces.
Had she made a huge mistake? Her heart beat loudly in her chest, warning her to turn back to the safety of the theater box. At the same time, Elise happily chattered away, pointing out art, architectural features, and the fashionable gowns of other ladies.
“The detail is remarkable,” Elise was saying, craning her neck to see the ceiling mural. “Look at those figures! They seem almost alive—”
Honoria didn’t hear the rest. She had violently collided with someone’s shoulder—so hard it turned her around. Large hands steadied her briefly before releasing her as though burned.
“I beg your pardon,” she murmured automatically, looking up. And froze.
No—she didn’t freeze. The whole world did.
Everything swam before her eyes, except for the man standing before her.
It was him .
Bradshaw.
His tall, broad figure loomed over her, his face—that face she had once feared more than death itself—set in lines of cruel disdain. Six years had added silver to his temples but had not softened the hardness in his eyes. He looked straight through her as though she were not there at all.
“Watch your step,” he said curtly, his voice sending ice through her veins. Before she could speak, he turned to the woman beside him—young, painfully young, draped in pastel green silk and diamonds but with downcast eyes and a tension in her shoulders Honoria recognized all too well—and guided her away with a hand at the small of her back. “Come, love.”
Honoria stood frozen, unable to breathe, unable to move. The noise of the crowd receded until all she could hear was the thundering of her own heart.
“Nory?” Elise’s concerned voice seemed to come from very far away. “Nory, are you unwell?”
Honoria forced herself to inhale. “I—” The room seemed to spin around her.
“Honoria!” Warm hands grasped her by her shoulders, snapping her back into focus. “What’s wrong?”
The buzz of the crowd, the people jostling her while pushing their way through, came rushing back. Honoria took a deep breath. “Forgive me, I—I believe I’m experiencing a most unexpected migraine.”
“Shall we return to the box?” Elise asked, her brow furrowed with concern.
“Yes,” Honoria managed. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
She allowed Elise to guide her back through the crowd, and every step was an exercise in will. Her mind raced. Bradshaw was here, in London. Of course, he was. What did she expect?
She’d gotten too comfortable in her country life, had convinced herself she wasn’t vulnerable anymore. What had she been thinking, going out in public like this?
The answer was easy. She hadn’t been thinking. She’d simply wanted a glimpse of her prior life.
Well, she’d gotten it. Except, it had slapped her full force instead.
Idiot. She was a complete idiot.
At the door to their box, Honoria stopped. “Miss Elise, I fear my migraine is worsening rapidly. Please make my apologies to Lady Somerville and Lord Caldwell. I believe I shall wait in the carriage until the performance concludes.”
“But surely you don’t mean to sit alone—”
“Please,” Honoria said, unable to keep the desperation from her voice. “I need air.”
Concern clouded Elise’s features, but she nodded. “Very well. Shall I escort you outside first?”
“No need,” Honoria said, already backing away. “The fresh air will do me good. Please enjoy the second act.”
Before Elise could protest further, Honoria turned and fled, weaving her way through the thick crowd. She barely registered the curious glances as she pushed through the doors and burst into the night air.
The cold hit her face, and she welcomed it, gulping great breaths as she stumbled down the steps. The carriages waited in neat rows, and she spotted Lord Caldwell’s among them, the driver huddled against the chill.
“James,” she called, her voice trembling.
The driver looked up. “Miss Hartwell? Is something amiss?”
“I am unwell. Just a bit, nothing to worry about. May I sit in the carriage until the others are ready to depart?”
He jumped down immediately. “Of course, ma’am. Let me help you.”
Once inside, Honoria huddled into a corner. Her hands trembled violently, and she pressed them together, trying to steady them.
She had seen Bradshaw. After all this time.
The memories flooded back—the pain, the terror, the night she fled, Lydia dragging her out. Six years of careful hiding, of building a new life, all potentially undone in a single moment.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, shivering in the darkness, before the carriage door opened again. She startled, expecting to see James again.
Instead, Lord Caldwell’s tall figure appeared in the opening.
“Hart?” His deep voice was quiet, almost gentle. “Elise mentioned you were unwell.”
Honoria tried to compose herself, but her trembling hands betrayed her. “Please forgive me, my lord. I did not mean to disrupt your evening.”
He said nothing for a moment, then stepped inside, closing the door behind him. In the dim light, his features were cast in shadow, but she felt his gaze on her.
Rather than sitting opposite her, as propriety dictated, he settled beside her, leaving a careful space between them. His presence filled the small confines of the carriage, yet rather than being intrusive, it felt comforting… warm. She felt safe.
They sat in silence for several moments, the only sound their quiet breathing and the occasional stamp of the horses’ hooves outside. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “You’re shaking.”
Honoria clasped her hands tighter in her lap. “It’s a bit cold, but no need to worry.”
Without warning, he reached across the space between them and covered her clasped hands with one of his own. The warmth of his touch was startling, his large hand engulfing both of hers completely.
“You’re freezing,” he murmured. She still couldn’t see his face clearly, but she knew his tone too well not to realize he was frowning.
Before she could respond, he removed his hand, only to unfasten his heavy leather gloves. He turned slightly toward her, his knee brushing her skirts.
“Your gloves are too thin for this weather,” he said, and without asking permission, gently laid his gloves over her hands, sharing his warmth with her.
“My lord, I couldn’t possibly—”
“The last thing I need is for you to catch a cold,” he interrupted gruffly. “I need you healthy.”
Her heart jolted at his words, heat spreading through her limbs.
I need you healthy.
She knew he meant it practically—that he needed her to be healthy, to take care of the children—but part of her clung to the first three words.
I need you.
Why else would he be here, in the carriage with her? Lending her his gloves?
She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “Thank you. I feel better already.”
He studied her for a long moment, then did something utterly unexpected. He reached out and, with one finger, gently turned her face back toward his. In all the years she had served in his household, he had never touched her with such familiarity.
“Honoria,” he said, using her given name for the first time, his voice barely above a whisper. The sound of her name on his lips loosened something within her. She hadn’t even thought he knew her name. So many firsts tonight.
“I have not heard of such a sudden migraine. Did something cause it?”
She found herself unable to look away from his eyes—dark, intent, in the shadowed carriage.
“I…” she began, but the words wouldn’t come.
His hand moved from her chin to cover both of her hands again, his gloves still atop them. A barrier between their skin.
“You can tell me. You’re safe under my roof, and whatever has you so out of sorts—I shall deal with it.” He paused. “I protect what is mine.”
Honoria’s mouth went dry. Surely he misspoke. But the possessive note in his voice sent an unexpected shiver through her.
In the confines of the carriage, the air between them seemed to thicken. She was suddenly, acutely aware of his proximity, of the subtle scent of bergamot that clung to him, of the warmth radiating from his body so close to hers.
His gaze dropped briefly to her lips, then returned to her eyes. For a heartbeat, she thought he might lean closer, might breach the final distance between them. Kiss her.
Instead, he gently squeezed her hands once more, then reluctantly withdrew his touch.
“James will take you home immediately,” he said, his voice rough. “He will have enough time to return for us before the performance ends.”
“My lord—” she began to protest, but he raised a hand to stop her.
“I will hear no arguments,” he said, his tone resolute. He stilled, his eyes searching her face in the darkness. What was he looking for?
After a long moment, he tipped his hat and exited the carriage, calling for the driver to take her home, leaving his fine leather gloves in her hands.