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Authors: Annie Burrows
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ride.
And yet she could not deny that since her maman had broached the subject of his infidelity she had been eaten up by jealousy.
No, that was not love! It was wounded pride that made her eyes smart so. It had to be.
Her abstracted air, coupled with the Earl's barely tamped down lust, created quite a stir when they entered the theatre arm in arm.
As soon as they were seated, Charles tore off a corner of the programme and wedged it under her ring.
'That should hold it in place for now.'
'Thank you,' she murmured, keeping her face averted. It was stupid to feel resentful because he was being so practical about everything. She sighed.
' Mademoiselle' he murmured, 'I am about to put my arm along the back of your chair, and I do not want you to flinch when I do it.'
A shiver slid all the way down her spine to her toes at the warmth of his arm behind her shoulders. With him so close, every breath she took filled her nostrils with his clean, spicy scent. Though his arm was not quite touching her, she remembered the strength of it, holding her captive while he ravaged her mouth. She felt weak, and flustered, and utterly feminine.
'I promise I shall not do anything you will not like. Only I must sometimes seem to be...how shall I put it? ...lover-like when we appear in public. I shall not go beyond the bounds of what is proper, I assure you.'
No, she reflected with annoyance. For he'd found kissing her such an unpleasant experience he had vowed never to do it again! This show of being 'lover-like', as he put it, was as much of a performance as what was going on upon the stage. But then, she reflected bleakly, she had known from the outset that all he wanted from her was the means to salvage his pride.
'Y...you may do what you like,' she conceded, feeling utterly wretched. 'I understand how important this show is to you.' Turning towards him, so that their faces were only a few scant inches apart, she declared, 'It was for this reason that you agreed to marry me, was it not? So that nobody would suspect you had been hurt. I think the worst thing you could endure is to have someone mock you.' Raising one hand, she laid it against his cheek. 'I trust you,' she said, resolving that, come what may, she would never be sorry to have given him this one source of consolation. 'However you decide to behave tonight, I will go along with it.'
Charles found it hard not to display his hurt. Go along with it, indeed! She could not conceal how nervous he made her. She was drawing on every ounce of courage she possessed to conceal her disquiet at his proximity. She had shuddered when he put his arm round her, tensed up when he had whispered in her ear.
Was it possible, he wondered, his heart skipping a beat, that she found him as repellent as Du Mauriac?
Regarding her nervously averted eyes, he refused to entertain that notion. She had come to him, after all. He had not put any pressure on her. She was just shy, that was all. He doubted many men had so much as flirted with her, let alone kissed her. She was as innocent as her sister had been experienced.
His expression bland, he murmured, 'We should take advantage of our relative privacy to organise the practical details of our wedding, don't you think?'
The sooner he secured her, the sooner he could stop worrying that she might run away.
By the end of the first act, by dint of keeping their heads close together and keeping their voices low, they had managed to agree upon a simple civic wedding. Conningsby, upon whose discretion he relied, would serve as his witness, and her parents would support Heloise. It would take next to no time to arrange it.
They had also managed to create the very impression Charles had sought. The audience, agog with curiosity, spent as much time training their opera glasses upon the unchaperoned young couple who appeared so intent on each other as they did upon the stage.
Heloise ordered a lemon ice once they finally managed to secure
And yet she could not deny that since her maman had broached the subject of his infidelity she had been eaten up by jealousy.
No, that was not love! It was wounded pride that made her eyes smart so. It had to be.
Her abstracted air, coupled with the Earl's barely tamped down lust, created quite a stir when they entered the theatre arm in arm.
As soon as they were seated, Charles tore off a corner of the programme and wedged it under her ring.
'That should hold it in place for now.'
'Thank you,' she murmured, keeping her face averted. It was stupid to feel resentful because he was being so practical about everything. She sighed.
' Mademoiselle' he murmured, 'I am about to put my arm along the back of your chair, and I do not want you to flinch when I do it.'
A shiver slid all the way down her spine to her toes at the warmth of his arm behind her shoulders. With him so close, every breath she took filled her nostrils with his clean, spicy scent. Though his arm was not quite touching her, she remembered the strength of it, holding her captive while he ravaged her mouth. She felt weak, and flustered, and utterly feminine.
'I promise I shall not do anything you will not like. Only I must sometimes seem to be...how shall I put it? ...lover-like when we appear in public. I shall not go beyond the bounds of what is proper, I assure you.'
No, she reflected with annoyance. For he'd found kissing her such an unpleasant experience he had vowed never to do it again! This show of being 'lover-like', as he put it, was as much of a performance as what was going on upon the stage. But then, she reflected bleakly, she had known from the outset that all he wanted from her was the means to salvage his pride.
'Y...you may do what you like,' she conceded, feeling utterly wretched. 'I understand how important this show is to you.' Turning towards him, so that their faces were only a few scant inches apart, she declared, 'It was for this reason that you agreed to marry me, was it not? So that nobody would suspect you had been hurt. I think the worst thing you could endure is to have someone mock you.' Raising one hand, she laid it against his cheek. 'I trust you,' she said, resolving that, come what may, she would never be sorry to have given him this one source of consolation. 'However you decide to behave tonight, I will go along with it.'
Charles found it hard not to display his hurt. Go along with it, indeed! She could not conceal how nervous he made her. She was drawing on every ounce of courage she possessed to conceal her disquiet at his proximity. She had shuddered when he put his arm round her, tensed up when he had whispered in her ear.
Was it possible, he wondered, his heart skipping a beat, that she found him as repellent as Du Mauriac?
Regarding her nervously averted eyes, he refused to entertain that notion. She had come to him, after all. He had not put any pressure on her. She was just shy, that was all. He doubted many men had so much as flirted with her, let alone kissed her. She was as innocent as her sister had been experienced.
His expression bland, he murmured, 'We should take advantage of our relative privacy to organise the practical details of our wedding, don't you think?'
The sooner he secured her, the sooner he could stop worrying that she might run away.
By the end of the first act, by dint of keeping their heads close together and keeping their voices low, they had managed to agree upon a simple civic wedding. Conningsby, upon whose discretion he relied, would serve as his witness, and her parents would support Heloise. It would take next to no time to arrange it.
They had also managed to create the very impression Charles had sought. The audience, agog with curiosity, spent as much time training their opera glasses upon the unchaperoned young couple who appeared so intent on each other as they did upon the stage.
Heloise ordered a lemon ice once they finally managed to secure
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