Page 24 of One Waltz with the Viscount

‘And we mustn’t forget you are here to search for a wife,’ she said, immediately regretting the words—she worried they sounded bitter.

Lord Routledge did not seem to notice and grimaced. ‘Yes, or so my father thinks.’ He shuddered as he let his eyes trail over the people in the other boxes.

‘Surely the idea of marriage cannot be that terrible, my lord?’

‘I did not think so once.’

She longed to ask him about his first wife. She did not think it was purely grief that stopped him from wanting to marry again. His expression hinted at a deeper tragedy.

‘Then perhaps you can learn to like the idea again. Is there a young woman you favour?’

She wondered what she was doing, torturing them both. She supposed her subconscious thought was that, if she helped him choose a candidate to court, no one would think she was interested in him romantically.

Looking at the frown crinkling between his eyebrows, she had the urge to reach out and smooth it, to take away some of his angst—but she stopped herself, instead folding her hands demurely in her lap.

‘Miss Gough is here,’ he said, not sounding overly excited. ‘She is sitting with my father, poor girl.’

Sarah followed his gaze to a pretty young woman with blonde hair, and a set of diamonds around her neck that looked as though they weighed her down.

‘Do you like Miss Gough?’

‘I barely know the girl. She is seventeen years old, barely more than a child.’ He closed his eyes and then leaned in as if to confide in her. ‘I see what Lord and Lady Shrewsbury have, and then I look at Miss Gough or the other young debutantes, and I wonder what I will have to talk about with a wife that young.’

‘Then choose someone older.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you can, it is your choice.’

‘No, it is not, not really. The only way I satisfy my father is if I marry a wealthy, well-connected woman from a good family. The problem is each year the young women are introduced into society, and the cream of the crop are quickly snapped up by anyone looking for a wife.’

‘Ah, so you’re saying that the best ones from each year have already married,’ Sarah said, understanding now.

‘Yes. Only by looking to the debutantes of the next season can I satisfy all of my father’s demands.’

‘Do you have to satisfy your father?’

He gave a mirthless laugh, but Sarah was prevented from asking any more by movement on stage. The opera had begun.

Chapter Eight

Miss Shepherd sat leaning forward, resting her arms on the balustrade of the balcony, enraptured by the opera. It was refreshing to come with someone who enjoyed the music, someone who was so intent on the stage her eyes did not waver.

Henry allowed himself to sit back and relax, letting the music wash over him. It had been a stressful evening so far, with his father turning up unexpectedly and then having to explain Miss Shepherd’s continued presence in his life to the Shrewsburys. He enjoyed the few moments of peace he had available to him, aware that, in the interval, things would only become more difficult.

As the curtain fell on the second act Miss Shepherd turned to him with tears in her eyes. ‘Thank you for bringing me tonight. This is the most wonderful thing I have ever seen.’

‘I’m glad you are enjoying it. Shall we step out for some air?’

Miss Shepherd inclined her head and he offered his arm. After informing Lord Shrewsbury they were going to take a little stroll in the interval, Henry escorted Miss Shepherd from the box.

They had only taken a few steps when he spotted his father, with young Miss Gough in tow, making his way through the crowds of people in their direction.

Quickly he grabbed Miss Shepherd’s hand and pulled her the other way, darting through the groups of people in a bid to get away from Lord Burwell. He spotted a door and, without thinking, pulled it open, guiding Miss Shepherd through it before closing it quietly behind him.

It was completely dark and it took Henry a moment to realise that he had pressed Miss Shepherd up against a wall. It had not been by design—in his haste to escape his father and Miss Gough he had lost all sense of reason. Yet even now, as he realised what position they were in, he didn’t immediately step away.

In the darkness he felt the soft rise and fall of her chest, and was reminded of the first time they had met, when he had held her against the wall in the library. Before he could stop himself he reached out, his fingers finding her face, and trailing a soft caress across the skin of her cheek.