Page 42

The three tiers of private boxes where the wealthy and nobility sat during a theater performance were crowded and noisy. The Marquess of Dardington, occupying one of them, stirred uneasily in his chair. Though velvet padded, he found it firm and uncomfortable against his back.

Trevor glanced down into the pit, where the orange girls were selling fruit and running about trying to avoid being grabbed or pinched by the worst of the boisterous, rowdy dandies, and grimaced.

His unease at the moment was not caused solely by his chair.

This colorful assortment of onlookers, people ranging from the lowest to highest social order had taken on an almost sinister character—for any one of them could be intending to cause his wife physical or mental pain.

His gut knotted at the very idea. That someone should harm her, hurt her, frighten her, brought forth an almost overwhelming impulse to shield and care for her. How ironic that he had now willingly cast himself in the role of Meredith’s protector, a role he took most seriously.

A movement off to the side caught his attention and Trevor saw her then, walking through the curtain of the box clutching the Duke of Warwick’s arm. The sight of these two, appearing so natural and unconcerned, eased a lingering worry Trevor had not realized existed.

Meredith looked exceedingly beautiful dressed in a gown of shimmering gold silk that matched the color of her hair. It was cut daringly low over the bosom, exposing a good deal of cleavage. Resting gracefully around her neck was a sparkling necklace of diamonds that looked oddly familiar.

Trevor stood politely as they entered the box. She noticed him before the duke did, and her whole body seemed to tense.

“Trevor, my goodness, this is a surprise. Your father did not mention you would be joining us this evening.”

Her hand reached up to her throat and she clutched at the necklace nervously. The action brought his attention again to the gems she wore, and he suddenly remembered it had belonged to his mother . . . and then later to his wife. His first wife.

The marquess braced himself for the reaction to set in that would surely result from seeing Meredith wearing something that had once graced Lavinia’s slender neck.

Yet it did not come. Perhaps the unresolved issues between them no longer seemed so pressing or difficult now that Meredith’s safety was his prime concern.

There was no time to answer his wife’s greeting, for another party entered, two ladies and a gentleman. Trevor assumed they had stopped on their way to their own seats, but soon realized they had been invited to share the duke’s box.

He caught a glimpse of the man’s face. Julian Wingate! What the devil was he doing here? Trevor scowled, then felt Wingate eyeing him up and down, all the while looking rather perturbed. He spared Trevor the briefest of nods before turning away.

Apparently Wingate felt the same flash of annoyance at discovering Trevor’s unexpected presence at the theater. The marquess almost smiled. At least they were well matched in their disregard of each other.

“I do not believe you have met the ladies, my lord,” Meredith said. “They have recently arrived in town to partake of the entertainment of the Season, so I suggested they join us. May I present Miss Harriet Sainthill and her sister Miss Elizabeth. Miss Harriet is engaged to Mr. Wingate.”

“Ladies,” he said, bowing elegantly, though his actions were automatic and routine. His mind was trying to decipher this ever growing puzzle.

Wingate’s fiancée? When had she and Meredith become such close friends? Or was it Wingate who shared that honor with his wife? Trevor seethed at the very idea.

The younger girl, a dainty blond who looked fresh and unspoiled, graciously curtsied to him. She addressed him demurely, sounding sweet and soft-spoken as she exclaimed her delight at attending the performance.

“It was very kind of Lady Meredith to include us this evening,” Harriet, the older sister, was saying, “though I would expect nothing less from such a dear friend of my sister-in-law. She speaks often and glowingly of your wife. ’Tis my understanding they have been friends for many years.”

Trevor’s head turned in surprise. So that was the connection. He wondered briefly who this dear friend was and if Meredith had ever mentioned her to him.

“Have I rendered you speechless, Lord Dardington?”

Trevor glanced down. The others had drifted to the opposite side of the box, but Harriet had stayed by his side.

He smiled. The dazzling beauty of the younger sister had made Harriet nearly invisible when they first entered the box.

If not for the fact she was Wingate’s fiancee, he most likely would not have given her a second glance.

Yet as he took a moment to observe her now, Trevor noticed the keen glint of shrewd intelligence in her eyes, which were a lovely shade of hazel.

They were ringed by long, dark-colored lashes.

Her skin was smooth, her cheekbones high, her nose pert with an upturn at the end.

She had none of the breathtaking beauty of her sister, but she was attractive in a more unusual way.

And that astute gaze indicated a forthright honesty and strong mind. Trevor immediately decided she was too good for a man the likes of Julian Wingate.

“Forgive my inattentiveness. I fear I was woolgathering.” He leaned close, then raised her gloved hand to his lips.

To her credit, she neither simpered nor fluttered at the gesture.

“ ’Tis a delight to meet you, Miss Sainthill.

Wingate is indeed a fortunate man to have such a dazzling beauty for his future wife. ”

She pulled her hand away. Though she refrained, he had a strong feeling she wanted to roll her eyes at him. In disgust. Apparently it took far more than idle flattery and pretty words to impress Miss Harriet.

Everyone settled into their seats. Trevor kept himself deliberately apart from the others, determined to keep his eyes focused on the stage, or on the pit below filled with people.

The main purpose of his presence here this evening was to see to Meredith’s safety.

He felt it only prudent to be on guard against trouble before it occurred, so he could be prepared.

However, throughout the first act, Trevor’s vigilance yielded no tangible results except for a painful crick in his neck. He was therefore very glad when the chandeliers were lowered and the candles lit for intermission.

Everyone stood and stretched, preparing to head downstairs for some refreshment and fresh air. Only the marquess remained seated.

“Will you join us, my lord?” Harriet asked.

“Thank you, no. I believe I’ll stay here.”

Trevor turned his attention back to the now empty stage. Once he heard them all shuffle out, he rotated his aching shoulders and slowly rolled his head, trying to ease some of the stiffness.

“Does it hurt a great deal, my lord?”

Startled, Trevor turned and saw a slender, feminine hand resting on his shoulder.

“I have told you before not to address me as my lord, Meredith.”

“Whatever you desire, Trevor.”

She had leaned down and whispered her reply into his ear. Her breasts pressed against his back, the soft swells causing an immediate ache and discomfort in another part of his body.

Before he could reprimand her, she began a gentle massage of his shoulders. He tensed against her touch, but she only pressed down harder, digging into the knotted muscles.

Some time during the performance Meredith had removed her gloves. Her bare fingers worked diligently and with surprising skill. Trevor’s eyelids lowered as the ache began to lessen.

“Is that helping?”

“Yes.” A sigh of pleasure escaped his lips. “Though I do believe the best results of a massage are achieved against bare flesh.”

Her hands stilled for an instant, then resumed their magical work. “I would encourage you to remove your coat and shirt, but I fear you would quickly comply. And that sort of activity is best left for the privacy of our chambers.”

The marquess’s eyes snapped open. He had not meant to make such a suggestive comment about bare flesh. Or had he? It seemed more often than not his famous control was sadly lacking when it came to his extraordinary wife.

Desire, sharp and liquid, spread through him. Desire he could not allow.

He turned and she smiled. “You seem to be in less discomfort,” Meredith said. She moved to the chair directly behind his. “I am so glad I could make you feel better.”

Her expression was all innocence, but Trevor was not convinced.

He had a sneaking suspicion his beautiful wife was relishing the effect she was having on him.

Despite his annoyance, he could not help but admire her.

She was such a unique person, so unconventional compared to the other women he had known, even Lavinia.

“First a kiss at the racecourse and now a massage at the theater. I am beginning to believe you enjoy making a public spectacle of yourself, madame.”

“Does that displease you?”

“Not really.” He meant it. The conventional, polite rules of this stodgy society had not held any power over him for nearly a decade.

Though he teased her, Trevor acknowledged Meredith had shown far more common sense and discretion with regard to those rules throughout all of her life.

“I fancy a bit of fresh air. I believe I will stroll down to the lobby for a few minutes.”

Meredith’s eyes widened minimally. She said nothing, asked nothing, yet he felt her intense regard. Though he preferred to be alone, Trevor recognized when he was defeated. “Would you care to join me?”

“How lovely.”