A mischievous sparkle flashed in Hart’s blue eyes. ‘Sorry to say I am not acquainted with anyone else in the box. Are you disappointed?’
‘Dolt.’
‘I can make some enquiries if you like.’ Hart smirked and eyed Julian with open curiosity.
‘No need. I am simply enjoying the view.’
Julian wondered if Peter Vandenberg was the American woman’s husband. They were obviously well acquainted, considering the way she occasionally touched his arm when she spoke. He was too old for her, but Julian knew of many marriages arranged between young women and much older men. If he did not give proper attention to spending time with Lady Mary, his marriage might eventually resemble that one.
It hadn’t occurred to him when they spoke that she might be married. Crossing his arms tightly over his chest, Julian forced his jaw to unclench. Why should he care if she was married?
The orchestra struck up its opening chords and the red velvet curtains of the stage parted. The narrator stepped out, and Julian was grateful for the distraction. However, when the interval was announced it annoyed him that he noticed the exact moment when the American woman left her box.
Once the performance had ended Julian couldn’t help searching for her as he prepared to enter Hart’s carriage. He turned towards the people still exiting the theatre and scanned the crowd for a pale pink gown. Not far away, to his left, he saw her standing next to Vandenberg while the man spoke to a coachman.
As if some strange force of nature had tapped her on the shoulder, she turned his way. Their eyes met. Recognition mixed with pleasure lit her features and the commotion around them faded away.
She pulled her mantle closed, appearing to hold off a chill. There were a number of interesting ways he’d like keep her warm. Her head tilted slightly, as if she was trying to read his thoughts, and then her lips rose into that alluring warm smile.
There was movement by her side, and Julian’s gaze darted to the older gentleman next to her. When Vandenberg’s hand moved to her elbow Julian’s grip tightened around the gold handle of his walking stick. Meeting her eyes once more, Julian tipped his hat to her before climbing into Hart’s coach.
‘Where shall we go next?’ Hart enquired as he settled himself on the green velvet bench and adjusted the cuffs of his black coat. ‘Shall we try White’s for cards?’
‘Have your driver take me to Helena’s. I promised I would make an appearance at her card party this evening.’
‘I still do not understand this attraction you have to Helena. She, my friend, is the devil. Tell me she is nothing more than a passing fancy.’
‘I do not understand why you are so against my association with her.’
Hart leaned forward across the carriage. ‘She wants to improve her rank.’
‘As do most women of the ton.’
‘Tell me you are not thinking of marrying her.’
‘It hasn’t crossed my mind. You are mistaken about Helena. She has informed me that she has no wish to marry again.’
‘And you believe her?’
‘She has not given me a reason to doubt her.’
He and Helena shared a mutual physical attraction. She was the widow of the Earl of Wentworth and missed her marriage bed. She told him she enjoyed her independence. It was the perfect arrangement. Julian would never pay for sex. He wanted shared desire.
Hart opened his mouth to say something, but then turned and looked out of the window. ‘Mark my words: Helena is trouble. You’d best remember that.’
However, at that moment Julian was having a difficult time remembering anything about Helena at all. His thoughts kept returning to a warm smile and a pair of lovely eyes.
For days Julian couldn’t seem to rid himself of the pull the American woman had on him. Suddenly she seemed to be everywhere. Each time he saw her their eyes met briefly, but he refused to pursue an introduction. Any enquiries he made about her would lead to speculation. He did not need members of the ton thinking he was panting after some American, even if that was exactly what he was doing. She was too tempting—and all wrong for a man who needed to live up to the Lyonsdale title.
The crackling and popping of the fire broke the silence in the library, where Julian and his grandmother faced each other over a chessboard. Absently twirling a glass of his favourite brandy on the Pembroke table, Julian wondered if the American would be attending the Langley ball later that evening.
‘Your mother went to a musicale at the Morleys’ tonight. I assume you were invited as well? You had no desire to attend?’
‘I had already accepted another invitation,’ Julian said as he slid one of his black pawns along the board.
‘You do not like the girl?’
He gave a careless shrug. ‘I have not spent enough time with her to form any opinion of her character.’
‘You have danced with her recently.’
‘She is a rather quiet partner. Do not fret. I am aware of her family’s history and I know she is an appropriate choice.’
‘It matters not to me if she is the one you will choose. I will not be marrying her. She does show quite well, though. I wouldn’t think it a hardship to produce an heir with her.’
Julian jerked his head up. ‘This is hardly a topic you and I should be discussing.’
‘Why not? You’re a grown man. We have both been married. I doubt there is anything you could say that would shock me.’ She arched a challenging brow.
His stomach gave a queasy flip. ‘You are my grandmother.’
She took a sip of her sherry and waved her glass in the air. ‘Is that the best you can do?’
‘It was not meant to shock. Discussing my marriage bed with you is unsettling, to say the least.’
‘I am mentioning it because I know how important finding a suitable partner in bed can be for a happy marriage. Your grandfather and I had a happy marriage. Did you?’
Every muscle in his body turned to stone. She knew he hated discussing Emma. It was too painful.
He shifted his attention back to the board, trying to blink away the wretched image of his wife’s lifeless form lying on the bloody sheets of her bed. He’d been holding her hand when she had slipped away. Offering her comfort at the end had been the least he could do, since it had been his fault she would never see her twentieth year.
‘I had a satisfactory marriage,’ he bit out, moving a random chess piece.
His grandmother’s attention was back to analysing her next move. ‘You were never cruel to Emma, however, I always had a sense that you were indifferent to her presence.’
He forced his jaw to unclench. ‘And you think I was wrong in that?’
‘I suppose it depends on what you want in a marriage.’
He rarely lost his patience with his grandmother, but she knew as well as he that what he wanted in life for himself did not matter. His parents had chosen his bride for him when he’d been away at Cambridge. When