Chapter Twelve
The next evening, Halsey did collect Inès early, but his sister Fee was also with him. She explained in the coach that she had told her brother she wished to see the play and that she had an invitation to leave them both and visit the box of a friend of hers.
“I will not remain with you beyond the first act, Ev,” she repeated in the carriage, then winked at Inès. “I will return home courtesy of my friend. Never fear.”
“Am I correct,” Evan asked her as his town coach pulled up to the theater entrance, “that Lucille Porter told you her brother is home from his regiment in India?”
Fee stared down her brother. “He once was a very irritating boy of twelve. I shall be very cool to him. So, India can change a man.”
“Not always, my dear Fee, for the better.”
Fee was not dissuaded. “Have you ever met him?”
“No. Should I?”
The footman swung open the door.
Fee gave a little shake of her head. “I understand he is very handsome. He has five thousand a year and a house in Bath. So, yes. I think you must meet him, Ev.”
“Looks, a house, and money are not—”
“I know.” She waved a hand. “Irrelevant. I will take a long look at him tonight and will report on all his warts.”
“Just what I hoped for!” he told her, laughing.
The exchange left Inès admiring the easy relationship between brother and sister. A thing to be savored. One to be treasured.And remembered.
She hugged Halsey’s arm as he led her down from the carriage and up into the theater.
This was the first time Inès had attended a play in London, and it offered a contrast to the few she’d attended as a child in the royal towns of Blois and Amboise. She took her seat and wished she could recall more of her experience.
Still, this was exciting. Their box was to the right of the stage and toward the back of the theatre. The view of the actors was excellent. If she had trouble hearing the actors, she didn’t mind. She was not a fan of Shakespeare. Too dreary for her.Macbethwas certainly more morose than most of the Bard’s plays. She was more intrigued by the fact that her escort was more interested in her than the action on stage.
“You are bored to tears,” he whispered in her ear, leaning close. Fee had long since departed to her friend’s box.
Inès turned and happily found her mouth close to his lips. “I truly do not like your Tudor playwright.”
“Whom do you prefer?” His eyes were dark purple but twinkling in the subdued light from the stage.
“Molière.”
“Of course. I should have known.” He reached for her hand and tugged at the fingers of her gloves. She questioned his intentions with a sharp look, but he gave her a molten smile that told her far too much of his desire for her. “No one can see our hands, darling.”
“It ends soon,” she said, her heart pounding as he circled his thumb in her palm, then threaded his fingers with hers.
“I do regret that. You and I need more time.”
Her breathing made her chest heave. He noticed, his gaze dropping to her throat but no further. The décolleté of her gown was lower than her usual style. She’d worn a new one designed last week for her and delivered only this morning. The tissue was dark-violet chiffon and far more scandalously cut than she usually wore, but she wanted him entranced. Wicked of her, it was. But she had not been able to stop herself.
She could play at desire, too. “How much time?”
“How long would you like it to be?” With his eyes, he made love to her mouth.
She could not breathe. “Do you think I entertain men all the time? That I know this…this ritual you and I play? I do not.” She snatched away her hand and moved to one corner. “I want to go home. Now, s’il vous plaît.”
“I apologize. I offended you when I am merely trying to test the waters. To see if—”
“To see if I want you? You…you have kissed me before! Why question if I care, when every word you say sets me afire?”
