To Love a Lord (20 page)

He leaned closer, intrigued by the confusion in her eyes. “Just because what?”

She met his gaze. “Because there are unpleasant others about.” Her eyes reflected surprise at her own words.

Whatever his sister would have said was lost to the increasing tempo and beat of the orchestra’s tune. From the corner of his eye he took in Jane as she returned her attention to the stage and studied the performance below with an uncharacteristic softness in her expression.

Attending the theatre was no different than attending a soiree or ball or dinner party. Each affair bore the same social obligations. They were events in which lords and ladies went through the motions of life focused on the power and wealth that drove their relationships. Since he’d left university and fulfilled the responsibilities thrust upon him as the Marquess of Waverly, he’d gone through the proper motions of Societal life. All the while knowing there would be nothing more for him or of him, and that had empowered him. For it was a decision in which he’d reclaimed his life after years of abuse and shame.

Seated beside Jane, with a cynical eye he looked out to the stage, at the actors and actresses, as they performed Rossini’s
La Cenerentola
with the theatre abuzz in loud whispers of gossip. These affairs were as contrived and tedious as any ball or soiree attended by members of the
ton
. Surreptitiously, he peered at Jane. Her wide eyes formed round moons and her lips were parted, as she stared at the stage with the kind of awe worn by Adam when he’d first seen Eve with that succulent apple in her temptress’ fingers. He glanced down at the stage and then back to her. Had he ever been so innocent as to find pleasures in events such as these?

“Are you enjoying the performance?” he drawled quietly. It was a foolish question. The lady’s appreciation was stamped in every delicate plane of her heart-shaped face. And it was there on her quivering mouth—that mouth he’d kissed so recently and dreamed about since.

Jane started and then glanced about to ascertain whom he spoke to. A small frown formed on her lips. “I am.” She returned her attention to the stage below.

Ah, the lady was displeased with him. He should leave the stilted relationship between them as just that—disapproving and combative. He spoke on a hushed whisper. “You have an actress’ soul, then.”

A crimson blush stained her cheeks and all pleasure faded from her eyes. Regret cut into him. She angled her chin up a notch. “My lord?” There was a challenge there.

He waved a hand. “Do not allow me to distract you from your pleasures, Jane.”

Her frown deepened at the use of her Christian name and she stole a glance at Chloe. Had the young woman heard that bold familiarity? When she returned her gaze to Gabriel’s, there was a fiery challenge in her eyes. “Are you having fun at my expense, my lord?”

A flush burned his neck. “Is your opinion so low of me?” Or was her opinion so low of any gentleman? His breath stirred the loose curl that hung over her eyes and it took a physical force to keep from brushing back that silken tendril. “You came to enjoy the theatre.”

“I came as your sister’s companion,” she pointed with a pragmatism that made him grin. She peered around Gabriel and cast a glance over at Chloe. He followed her stare. For all his sister’s protestations to the contrary, she studied the stage below with a similar excitement he’d spied from Jane.

Gabriel and Jane fell silent and the lively orchestra’s song filled the theatre with the contralto Cenerentola soaring through the enormous ceiling.

“Despite what you believe, Jane, I did not make light of you,” he whispered quietly against her ear. She stiffened at his side but remained silent. In an effort to restore the lightheartedness to her earlier expression, he asked, “Do you speak Italian?”

She tore her gaze from the stage below and gave her head a slight shake, eying him warily. What man put that guardedness in the eyes of a lady so young? Then, weren’t his own sisters scarred by life in a way that should have shown him that age had little impact on experience?

“Once there was a king who grew tired of being alone. He searched and he found three who wanted to wed him.”

“What did he do?” That whisper was pulled from her as though she warred within herself to maintain the walls she’d erected between them and her own curiosity to know more of the play.

“He despised show.”

“Who did he choose then?” With her words and eyes she urged the answer.

“Ah, but you have to listen,” he whispered once more as the contralto’s soaring lyrics filled the massive theatre, drowning even the whispers of gossip to a dull hum. “He chose innocence. Innocence and goodness.”

And God, for all his vows these twenty years, with Rossini’s words, he understood the seductive pull of those gifts—innocence and goodness.

W
ith Gabriel’s innocuous translation of those seductive lyrics, desire flared to life once more, potent and strong. “You should not,” she said, her words pleading to her own ears.

“I am merely translating the words, Jane.” His husky whisper invaded her spirits. “Listen to their song.” She closed her eyes and lost herself to the seductive trance cast by each word translated. “My heart is pounding.” As was hers. In a desperate rhythm for him. “Why is my heart pounding so?” Because it, too, possessed the same madness as her own heart? Which was madness. With the exception of his kiss, he’d been quite clear in his feelings for her. He liked her not at all. And she liked him not at all. And… She was the very worst liar. “How lovely that smile.” His breath fanned her cheek; the hint of brandy, once ugly and vile, a sign of sin and evil, filled her senses until the power of those spirits threatened to make her drunk with a desire for life and him. “That smile. It enters my heart and brings me hope.” He shifted close and his powerfully muscular thigh brushed her leg and crushed her satin skirts.

Was that subtle movement deliberate? The weighted feel of him against her burned her through the fabric of her gown, touched her skin, and went deeper into her blood, heating it so it coursed through her body and threatened to set her ablaze.
I want him. I want him in ways I’ve never wanted, or wanted to need, a person.
She longed for his touch in ways that marked her as her mother’s daughter. Jane pressed her eyes closed.

The hall surged with a crescendo of applause as the orchestra concluded act one of Rossini’s latest masterpiece and it brought her eyes flying open. Jane blinked away the befuddlement woven upon her senses by Gabriel’s innocent translations and careless touch.

“It is splendid, isn’t it?” Chloe’s cheerful voice piped in.

It was a blasted disaster. Jane nodded jerkily. “Yes.” Her skin pricked with the burn of Gabriel’s gaze upon her person.

Chloe dusted her gloves together and scanned the crowded theatre as the lords and ladies present rose from their seats to take in the real show—the one occurring about them in respectable theatre boxes. Jane welcomed the young woman’s distraction and used it as an opportunity to bring sense to her muddied thoughts, and to set Gabriel firmly from her mind.

And focus on the whole disliking him business.

He stretched his legs out in front of him and hooked them at the ankle, wholly elegant and so unaffected it was impossible to not admire him and the figure he cut.

She groaned. Whatever was the matter with her? A harlot’s heart through and through.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Munroe?”

Gabriel studied her with that familiarly veiled expression. She swallowed hard. “Fine. I—”

He leaned close. “It appeared as though you groaned.”

Chloe swung her attention to Jane. “Oh dear, are you ill, Jane?”

“I—” Am utterly humiliated. Sick with embarrassment. Though she didn’t suspect that qualified as any type of illness.

The red velvet curtain fluttered and she gave thanks for the sudden interruption.

A tall gentleman with black hair and familiar chiseled cheeks filled the entrance. At his side stood a crimson-haired lady with a wide smile on her face. Gabriel stared unblinking at the couple a moment.

Chloe emitted a small shriek and leapt to her feet. “Imogen, Alex.”

This was the roguish brother spoken of by Chloe, and his beloved wife.

Jane hesitantly climbed to her feet and took in the reunion between the young ladies who spoke with such rapidity, her head spun. Through their animated greeting, she hugged the edge of the wall in an attempt to make herself as small as possible from the intimate exchange. The two women gesticulated wildly. Wide smiles wreathed their faces as they alternated between soft laughter and excited chatter. Jane fisted the fabric of her gown. How long had she been alone? She’d given up on the dream of even a friendship as a child. Yet just now, seeing the two so effortlessly communicate, that age-old longing she’d thought firmly buried came rushing back. There was something so very bittersweet in the happy exchange that she forced her gaze away to Gabriel and his brother.

Seemingly forgotten by the Edgerton women, the two brothers took each other in with a guardedness that was belied by the close, animated greeting between sister and sister-in-law. She used their quiet meeting as an opportunity to study Gabriel alongside his brother. With their midnight black hair and chiseled features, they might be taken for mirrors of one another. And yet, there was whipcord strength to Gabriel’s lean frame that bespoke an understated power.

What was it about Gabriel that so fascinated her? By his own admission and his brusque manners, he was, as his sister pointed out, nothing charming in the way of those roguish sorts. Yet, she preferred the sincerity of him to the—

Gentlemen now looking openly at her.

She flushed as she became aware of the four pairs of eyes trained on her person.

“Hullo,” the red-haired young lady said with a gentle smile.

Jane bit the inside of her cheek. Why did the woman have to smile and be kind? Why could this new Edgerton lady not be the cold, callous, and calculated peers Jane had encountered before now? “Hello,” she replied and dropped a belated curtsy.

Lady Imogen Edgerton looked between Chloe and Gabriel in an apparent request for an introduction.

“Oh, of course,” Chloe said, pointing her gaze to the chandelier overhead. “Allow me to introduce you to my new companion, Mrs. Jane Munroe.”

Silence met the young woman’s pronouncement as Lady Imogen Edgerton and Lord Alex looked on with questions in their eyes; those silent queries landed on Gabriel. Unflappable as ever, he gave no indication he’d noted or cared about the inquiries from any of his kin.

“Mrs. Munroe,” Lord Alex drawled. A half-grin formed on his lips and he sketched a polite bow. “I daresay, I hope you’re being well compensated for the task of going about with these two.” His words ended on a grunt as Chloe buried her elbow into his side.

“Do hush. I’ll not have you run off Jane. I quite enjoy her company.”

Emotion balled in Jane’s throat. No one enjoyed her company. Her existence had been an unwanted and unwelcomed one that had only ushered in years of being that same unwanted and unwelcomed person. Chloe was merely being polite, but the fact that she’d even uttered those words wreaked havoc on her orderly emotions. “If you’ll excuse me a moment?” she said, hastily. She skirted the edge of the marquess’ private box, aware of his gaze following her movements. “I—If you’ll excuse me,” she repeated dumbly, and then before questions could be asked by the ever inquisitive Chloe, Jane slipped from the box and set the curtain aflutter once more.

Her heart pounded as she walked with quick strides through the corridors. Lords and ladies in their evening’s finery still filled the hall. Jane kept her gaze trained forward, avoiding the interested stares that flicked over her person by those who’d clearly identified her as an outsider in their glittering world. She dimly registered the orchestra plucking the strings, signifying the beginning of act two, and she welcomed the exodus of the lords and ladies curiously peering at her as they returned to their seats. Jane continued on in the opposite direction. No purpose to her movement in mind, merely an escape from the kindness of that family whose trust she even now violated.

She was an interloper. A liar. A—

A shriek escaped her as a figure stepped into her path. Heart thudding hard, she pressed a hand to her chest. “Forgive m…” Jane swallowed the rest of that apology and choked on the remaining syllable as the loathsome figure she’d hoped never to see again leered at her. The same man whose vile soul and ugly touch had haunted her dreams.

“Jane Munroe,” Lord Montclair murmured. “We meet again.” His breath still stank of brandy. It slapped her face and sucked the breath from her lungs and assailed her senses. How could that scent be so potently seductive when Gabriel had cradled his snifter, and not inspire this revulsion that turned in her belly?

Jane backed up a step. He would never go away. He was relentless. “What do y-you want?” She detested the faint tremor to her tone. She cast a glance about. If Gabriel discovered her now, he’d turn her out without a backward glance.

By the triumphant glint in his eyes, Lord Montclair delighted in her fear. That victorious gleam forced her feet to stop moving. Observers or not, she’d be damned if she allowed him to cow her. Not again. He’d already cost her the post within his father’s household and too many evenings of rest. She’d not allow him to steal her pride, as well.

She made to step around him.

He matched her movements, effectively blocking her retreat.

Her heart pounded hard in her ears, and she hid her shaking fingers in the folds of her skirts, lest he see the effect he had on her. He’d relish in her fear. He always had. “What do you want?” Her chest heaved with the force of her emotion. Of course, she’d known entering London Society it was possible their paths would cross, but she’d believed her role as companion would have kept her along the edge of ballroom floors and out of notice. From within the auditorium
La Cenerentola’s
aria soared through the rafters and carried to the hallway.