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the room and grabbed the woman by her soiled robe. He brought his face within inches of hers, ignoring the stench of her breath. “You don’t know anything about my education, but I’ll tell you this. If you
ever
come near Lord Cheddersby again, you will be sorry.”
“I won’t!” she cried, her eyes wide with fear. “On my life I won’t!”
“Good.” With that, Rob let go of her and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.
Once outside and around the corner, he slumped against the brick wall of a pawnshop. Sweat dripped down his back and he panted as if he had run a mile in the summer’s heat as he tried to control his rage and his dismay.
How long might it be before Vivienne heard the stories about him, too?
Her hand reluctantly on Philip’s arm, Vivienne joined the throng entering the King’s Theatre. Ahead of them, her uncle led the way through the crowd like a ship through waves, leaving them to follow along in his wake.
There were so many people here, she was rather glad of that, just as she was
not
glad to have Philip so close beside her. He pressed against her, and his wine-soaked breath was hot in her ear. “Forgive me, my dear,” he murmured. “It’s the damnable mob.”
He wasn’t fooling her with that excuse. He was trying to look down her bodice.
When they finally reached their box in the upper gallery, the noise did not diminish. People around them, as well as below in the pit, talked and laughed loudly. From this upper vantage point, the stage seemed a dizzying distance away. Vivienne’s vision was not aided by the smoke from the various candles, which had little escape in the poorly ventilated building.
She pulled away from Philip and moved a little closer to the railing, scanning the crowd below rather than look at him. She spied Lettice Jerningham talking to a woman equally fashionably dressed even as her eyes roved over the assembly.
Lettice was right where she most enjoyed being, whereas Vivienne wished she were back at home reading. She spotted Vivienne and waved gaily Vivienne made a halfhearted smile and a feeble wave.
“Good evening, Sir Philip, Mr. Burroughs.”
She recognized the man’s voice at once and whirled around. Heartless Harding was at the entrance to their box, wearing the same clothes he had worn before, and with an expression just as stern.
For one moment, as their gazes met and held, it was like that night in Bankside, before they had kissed. Once more he was the gallant gentleman who had come to her rescue, not with sword or pistol, but with words and logic.
While some women might admire the flash and physicality of the former sort of hero, she would rather respect one who also used his mind. And, she had to admit, he stirred her passions as much as any dashing hero might.
Then, suddenly, the gleam of emotion in his eyes disappeared. “Good afternoon, Mistress Burroughs.”
He spoke as if nothing at all had happened between them. As if he had not offered his help, then withdrawn it. As if they had not kissed with so much mutual passion.
Disappointment, dark and bitter, filled her.
Who
was
this man who could be so different from one instant to the next?
What did it matter? Why should she let him confound her? He had made it quite clear he wanted nothing to do with her.
Determined to ignore him, she looked past Mr. Harding to the very stylishly attired young man with a round, pleasant face and a most outrageous hat who was standing behind him. With a very interested expression on his face, the unknown man pushed his way forward past the attorney.
Either he was here with Mr. Harding or he was one of the most blatantly nosy people Vivienne had ever encountered.
With an expectant smile, he looked back over his shoulder at Mr. Harding, who stepped forward to make the introductions. “Mistress Burroughs, Sir Philip, Mr. Burroughs, allow me to present Lord Cheddersby.”
Lord Cheddersby swept his hat from his head and bowed. “Your
ever
come near Lord Cheddersby again, you will be sorry.”
“I won’t!” she cried, her eyes wide with fear. “On my life I won’t!”
“Good.” With that, Rob let go of her and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.
Once outside and around the corner, he slumped against the brick wall of a pawnshop. Sweat dripped down his back and he panted as if he had run a mile in the summer’s heat as he tried to control his rage and his dismay.
How long might it be before Vivienne heard the stories about him, too?
Her hand reluctantly on Philip’s arm, Vivienne joined the throng entering the King’s Theatre. Ahead of them, her uncle led the way through the crowd like a ship through waves, leaving them to follow along in his wake.
There were so many people here, she was rather glad of that, just as she was
not
glad to have Philip so close beside her. He pressed against her, and his wine-soaked breath was hot in her ear. “Forgive me, my dear,” he murmured. “It’s the damnable mob.”
He wasn’t fooling her with that excuse. He was trying to look down her bodice.
When they finally reached their box in the upper gallery, the noise did not diminish. People around them, as well as below in the pit, talked and laughed loudly. From this upper vantage point, the stage seemed a dizzying distance away. Vivienne’s vision was not aided by the smoke from the various candles, which had little escape in the poorly ventilated building.
She pulled away from Philip and moved a little closer to the railing, scanning the crowd below rather than look at him. She spied Lettice Jerningham talking to a woman equally fashionably dressed even as her eyes roved over the assembly.
Lettice was right where she most enjoyed being, whereas Vivienne wished she were back at home reading. She spotted Vivienne and waved gaily Vivienne made a halfhearted smile and a feeble wave.
“Good evening, Sir Philip, Mr. Burroughs.”
She recognized the man’s voice at once and whirled around. Heartless Harding was at the entrance to their box, wearing the same clothes he had worn before, and with an expression just as stern.
For one moment, as their gazes met and held, it was like that night in Bankside, before they had kissed. Once more he was the gallant gentleman who had come to her rescue, not with sword or pistol, but with words and logic.
While some women might admire the flash and physicality of the former sort of hero, she would rather respect one who also used his mind. And, she had to admit, he stirred her passions as much as any dashing hero might.
Then, suddenly, the gleam of emotion in his eyes disappeared. “Good afternoon, Mistress Burroughs.”
He spoke as if nothing at all had happened between them. As if he had not offered his help, then withdrawn it. As if they had not kissed with so much mutual passion.
Disappointment, dark and bitter, filled her.
Who
was
this man who could be so different from one instant to the next?
What did it matter? Why should she let him confound her? He had made it quite clear he wanted nothing to do with her.
Determined to ignore him, she looked past Mr. Harding to the very stylishly attired young man with a round, pleasant face and a most outrageous hat who was standing behind him. With a very interested expression on his face, the unknown man pushed his way forward past the attorney.
Either he was here with Mr. Harding or he was one of the most blatantly nosy people Vivienne had ever encountered.
With an expectant smile, he looked back over his shoulder at Mr. Harding, who stepped forward to make the introductions. “Mistress Burroughs, Sir Philip, Mr. Burroughs, allow me to present Lord Cheddersby.”
Lord Cheddersby swept his hat from his head and bowed. “Your
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