“My lord,” he corrected. “In England, you see—”
“I know very well where I am,” she snapped. Instead of her rudeness putting him off, it seemed to enliven him.
“Then I shall meet you at the front entrance at 7:30. If I don’t see you, I have a box that an attendant can direct you toward. But I do enjoy catching the full entertainment, so I don’t like to be late.”
She wanted to say something withering, but she hadn’t said no to him, and there was something deep in her Minnesotan soul that couldn’t abide being mean. Or late. “I will meet you at the front entrance.”
“Excellent.” He turned to leave her there, but something still bothered her.
“Lord Grabe?” she asked.
“Hm?” He turned back to face her.
“How did you know it was me?” Prudence pulled herself up to a startlingly stiff posture.
“The stand-offish American widow who has resisted wooing for a Season and a half? My dear, you are famous in my circles.” He gave another disarming grin—one that sunk under the surface of her tough exterior this time.
*
THE WEEK WASgone in an instant. Leo had tutored Eyeball, who was not as dim as Leo remembered. For that much, he was grateful. His nights were full of Prudence. It was rare now, to spend a night apart, but Prudence still had parties and events to attend as a member of Society’s adjunct amusement. And she was obligated to go, Leo knew, to help spread the word of the Ladies’ Alpine Society’s fundraising ball at the end of the Season.
Ticket sales were mediocre. But that could change in a moment. Only one of them needed to become that Season’s object of desire, and they would be sold out in a matter of hours. And then they would... go to Switzerland. Which was such a strange thing to think. Prudence’s body was one that had worked. It was evident in the way she moved, not to mention the sleek rounding of her bare calves and thighs and biceps. He loved running his hands along her tautness, her power that she put away just for him.
And through some miracle, Leo was glad when neither of them suggested coming together Tuesday night. Both he and his mother loved the opera. Opening nights especially. There was something about the energy of the performers—practiced, yes, but somehow raw and new. They would either give the best performances, or the worst. And it was part of the thrill.
Of course, the epic music was the highlight of the opera, but Leo also enjoyed the entire spectacle of the audience. And, though no one believed him, he enjoyed taking his mother. She was remarkably insightful about people they encountered, the audience scanning the crowd with their opera glasses. Even some of the performers. She was excellent at reading body language and facial expressions. It was her insights that allowed him to practice a reserve that broached no entry.
Her small, gold-rimmed spectacles hung on a spider-silk-thin gold chain that tinkled against whatever heavy, jewel-studded necklace adorned her that evening. For his mother never went anywhere without some marker of their wealth and status. She’d lived too long without them, and she wouldn’t suffer the disrespect again.
Which begged the question of whether her observations of others were cruel. They were blunt and heavy-handed, yes. But these perceptions weren’t meant for anyone other than him. Now that she was losing her hearing, she seemed to believe Leo was as well, which had inspired some humiliating moments during the last few performances here.
They settled into their box. Their usual wine was punctual. His mother plucked her glass from the waiter’s outstretched tray without so much as a glance. Leo slipped a few coins for gratuity onto the tray as he gathered his glass. Champagne. Always champagne to start.
“Oh, there she is,” his mother clucked. Putting down her glass, she scooped up her opera glasses and glanced across the way at another box.
“Where is who?” Leo asked, scanning the crowd down at the bottom. He liked looking at the clothing everyone wore. The feathers on the women, the pops of color from the men. He could never get over the extravagant colors the wealthy wore. He loved them, even if he despised wearing them himself.
“That girl. Prudence.” His mother gave a low chuckle.
She rarely chuckled. And the hair on the back of Leo’s neck stood on edge. Chuckling was reserved for a bold individual. Someone daring.
“Oh?” Leo managed, trying so very hard to sound uninterested.
“Across the way there,” his mother said, handing him her opera glasses. “In Lord Grabe’s box.”
He snatched up the opera glasses, causing his mother to topple into his shoulder. “So sorry, Mother,” he managed. Lord Grabe. Eyeball.
The man was a walking venereal disease. Finally the people came into focus. Broad-shouldered, impeccably dressed, staring at Prudence as if she were the most captivating woman alive. Which she was, of course, but a rube like Eyeball would never be smart enough to pick up on it. No, he was courting her for one reason only: her money. Despite what he’d said about his estate being perfectly solvent, men like him always wanted more. And with the estate and title in his hand, he would be looking to make costly improvements to his land. Which meant he would need ready capital. Which meant Prudence.
His mother pried the opera glasses from him. “Shall we go over there?” His mother asked, her voice tinged with an inflection he couldn’t quite parse. His mind was wholly focused on Prudence with Eyeball.
“Of course,” Leo said, springing to his feet. He offered his mother his arm, and they toddled over to the other box, nodding their heads to acquaintances they passed. Though he and his mother were not of this world, they swam in it with the wealthy and titled. He winced, remembering that Eyeball had never said a cross word to him, even though Leo was teased constantly for being there on scholarship. Which Eyeball was as well. But Leo had the added taunt that he was not of blue blood. That he was like a two-headed sheep—an oddity. Smart for a servant’s son.
But as he drew the curtains aside to enter the box, and he saw how close Eyeball’s hand drifted to Prudence’s perfectly muscled derriere, all his feelings of guilt and remorse evaporated. The man was not fit company for any woman. Let alone one as naïve and trusting as Prudence.
“Lord Grabe,” his mother announced for him. “Too much drink will rob you of your impeccable balance.” As if Grabe’shand was straying so far because he was about to topple over, and not to manhandle Prudence.
Grabe turned, his face not registering shame or surprise. “Mrs. Moon, what a delight.”
