Eliza wished her original assumption that Lady Redver was his wife had been correct. She’d been jealous, of course, but if he were married, she’d have good reason to keep him at arm’s length.
He was here tonight and would also be at the planned outing to the Royal Academy. How often would she be obliged to keep company with him?
And would each time bring the same rush of excitement?
Eliza didn’t know how she was able to keep up polite conversation.
When they finally reached the theater, Eliza accepted Redver’s escort. Soon, she and the marquess were again seated side by side, this time in a darkened box. They occupied two chairs furthest from the stage, with Lady Asquith and herbrother in the center, and Cassandra and Harbury closest to box’s edge.
That Cassandra and Harbury had been set on display wasn’t lost on either twin.
Cassandra had cast Eliza a worried glance. Eliza could do nothing but smile reassuringly.
She expected the presence of Lady Asquith and her brother would discourage unwanted attention, and she’d been correct…at least for the first quarter hour.
Then, however, both siblings had nodded off.
When Lady Asquith audibly snored, Redver crossed his legs and leaned toward to Eliza, so close that his arm brushed hers.
“You may stop glowering.”
His mouth was mere inches from her ear. His warm breath tickled her nape. Her body responded to his voice, sending shivers of anticipation down her spine.
“Harbury,” he continued, “has no more interest in your sister than she has in him.”
Keeping her eyes on the stage, she rested her arm on the chair, further narrowing the distance between them with a tilt of her head. “I suppose, in your mind, his lack of interest absolves him of responsibility?”
“No. What Harbury did was inexcusable.”
Believing he was mocking her, she flashed him a chastising expression. To her surprise, he appeared to be serious. She turned back to the play.
“We are agreed then,” she said.
“And yet, you continue to seethe with enmity.”
She compressed her lips and glanced askance.
“Every time you look at me in that fashion, you defeat the purpose of this exercise.”
She cocked a brow. “Which is?”
“To show the world how interesting and engaging the eldest two Miss Wainwrights are, thus restoring you to the good will of the Patronesses and allowing you your pick of eligible young men.”
“And the world,” she mimicked him acidly, “will come to this realization simply because you and Harbury deign to notice us?”
“Harbury, yes. But me?”
He flashed one of his heart-melting smiles—a smile that left her staring at his lower lip.
“I’m afraid I find myself equally in need of reputational rehabilitation.”
“Why? Simply because you’re—” She stopped herself. She wasn’t supposed to know him.
“I’m…?” His brows rose.
Again, her gaze dropped to his lips. She forced her eyes down to the pin in his cravat. “You’re disinclined to dance.”
“Observant of you, Miss Wainwright. I’m impressed.”
