Page 80 of One Night with an Earl

Ana smiled. “I guessed as much.”

Penelope clutched his hand, her face pale and pinched. “I was so worried when I received your letter telling me of the accident.”

“It’s healing, but the physician said I will most likely have a limp.”

“I’m so sorry.” Penelope lowered her head and choked on a sob.

“Don’t be. God looked after me, and a talented army surgeon saved my leg.” He pressed two fingers beneath Penelope’s chin and raised her eyes to his. “I cherished every one of your letters.”

“As I did yours.”

Ana felt uncomfortable standing there, an intruder watching a secret reunion between two young lovers. She also felt strong empathy for the lieutenant. He may be fortunate to keep his leg, but he was much too young to sustain a life-changing injury.

And her heart ached for Penelope. Her charge’s blue eyes shone with love and longing that had been building for months. Ana knew it was a longing that could never be.

At that moment, Oliver’s handsome face formed in her mind, as clear as if he were standing before her. She recalled the longing in his own voice in the back alley of the boxing salon. Undisguised, raw, naked need. Her legs felt weak just envisioning his fierce gaze.

Life was short indeed.

She knew one thing for certain. She did not want to spend each day, every long, endless year, wondering what it would have been like to experience more of him.

Tonight could not come fast enough.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Penelope’s fingers twisted her skirts, and she bit her bottom lip. “Why do we have to go to the theater tonight, Mother?”

“I mentioned this to you before. We received quite a few invitations when we were in the country,” Lady Malvern said.

Ana knew her ladyship would prevail. During their brief sojourn to Rosedown, they missed several of the Season’s balls and parties, and Lady Malvern was eager to attend as many routs, balls, garden parties, and plays as humanly possible in London.

Unlike Penelope, Ana wanted to attend the theater. Tonight was the night Oliver would send his midnight coach, and she had been looking forward to the moment she could be alone with him. She smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her serviceable alpaca skirts and said what her ladyship expected. “Your mother is right,” Ana said. “We are invited to sit in Lord Drake’s private box, and we must not be late.”

Ana caught Penelope’s desperate glance but chose to ignore it. Their visit to Lieutenant Smithfield’s residence was still fresh in the girl’s mind, but she had to act as if nothing untoward had occurred. Lady Malvern already suspected her daughter’s affections were preoccupied elsewhere, and she could not let Penelope take any chances.

The Malvern coach waited in a long line before they alighted at Drury Lane Theater. The brilliant actor, Edmund Kean, was performing Hamlet that evening, and many of the aristocracy were in attendance. Colorful gowns and priceless jewels shimmered beneath the lights of the theater’s chandeliers. After removing their opera cloaks and pelisses in the coat room, they made their way to the private boxes.

Oliver stood as soon as they entered. A shiver of excitement coursed through Ana’s veins at the sight of him. He was striking in a long black coat, patterned waistcoat, and blood-red ruby pin in his snowy cravat. His dark hair gleamed beneath the lights.

“Good to see you again, Drake,” Lord Malvern said.

“Ladies.” Oliver nodded.

He held a chair for Penelope to sit. When he moved to assist Ana, his fingers brushed her low back as he held her chair. “Miss Gardner.”

Ana marveled how so light a touch could flood every inch of her body with awareness. She was afraid to meet his eyes, afraid every person in the theater box would know every unladylike thought rushing through her head.

As the group engaged in conversation, Ana was barely aware of the topic. She had a heightened awareness of Lord Drake—the deep, distinctive baritone of his voice, the way he occupied his seat, with command and confidence. His cologne wafted to her, a tantalizing hint of sandalwood and cloves.

At last, the play began. Ana let out a slow breath and attempted to focus on the actors as the drama played out on the stage. A group of dandies seated near the pit drew her eye. They were a raucous group, and it was obvious they were in attendance to meet with friends, converse, and show off the latest in men’s fashions. She spotted Lord Moore, Lord Sutherland, and Lord Elton, the trio who had been at the Silver Chalice. Sutherland took a pinch of snuff and Moore ogled ladies seated two rows behind him. The now-married Lord Elton was seated in between his two friends, chuckling at something they’d said.

Oliver had nothing in common with the trio of coxcombs that had been at the brothel that night. She stole a sideways glance at him. His profile was half illuminated by the lights of the stage. He had a firm strength about him, and she had witnessed firsthand how important he considered his duties. Her gloved fingers curled around the banister of the box. Her own emotions were a whirlwind whenever he was near.

How many hours until tonight?

She’d always prided herself on her strength. It was what had kept her and her brother alive after their father’s suicide. Even after what little pin money she’d set aside had trickled away on food, she remained strong and found a way to survive.

But that strength evaded her now, replaced with a fierce longing.