Page 19 of This Marquess of Mine

Chapter Six

All of London seemed to have converged on Covent Garden, Griffin observed two nights later as he followed Emmy and Olivia up the steps and past the giant columns toward the Theatre Royal’s front doors.

His ears rang with the clatter of carriage wheels and heeled slippers on the stairs, the chatter of excited voices a low and constant hum. The evening’s performer, a new soprano from Italy, was being lauded all over Europe for her rare and extraordinary talent, and everyone in Town was here to judge for themselves.

Everyone except Griffin’s mother, as she’d grumpily pointed out from her bed only an hour ago. Then she’d made him promise to watch every moment of the performance and report back to her later tonight with a complete and detailed description of the evening while it was still fresh in his mind.

The memory of his mother’s stern scowl brought a smile to his lips.

Fortunately for him, he’d always rather enjoyed the performing arts, music and plays and the like. Yes, he would rather trade places with his mother, send her off to the opera instead and spend the evening at home with Artemis, but he was here now, and he supposed it could be worse. It could be him with the injured ankle.

“Goodness me, it is an absolute crush tonight,” Emmy said as the trio stepped through the front doors and into the spacious lobby teeming with patrons.

Serving girls bustled around the stuffy, opulent room, offering tea and coffee to the guests, though Griffin could think of nothing he’d like less right now than a hot beverage.

“I hope our box isn’t as warm as the lobby is,” Emmy said, fanning herself with a gloved hand. “It is smoldering in here.”

“I brought my fan with me, Em,” Olivia said, holding it aloft. “If you would like to borrow it—”

The remainder of her words fell away as an overeager young dandy pushed through the crowd, jostling her arm and knocking the fan to the floor.

“Oh, drat,” she muttered, pausing to sweep her gaze over the carpet at her feet.

“Allow me.” Griffin bent down and scooped up the fan then rose and held it out to her.

She took it from him, her gloved fingers grazing his, and the slide of velvet against his palm sent a jolt of yearning straight to his groin. He dropped his arm to his side and flexed his fingers, curling them into his still-tingling palm. Christ above.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said with a polite smile, though her gaze never met his.

She turned and began pushing forward through the crowd with Emmy at her side, and Griffin followed behind them, his gaze trained on the back of Olivia’s head.

‘My lord’?

His brows drew together. In all the years he’d known her, she’d never called him by anything but his given name, yet tonight she’d my-lorded him twice. It was odd.

Her behavior had been odd all evening, though. Oh, she was everything polite and proper, of course, but unusually taciturn, too—when she deigned to speak to him at all.

Evidently she was ignoring him.

He gave a mental shrug and continued weaving through the crowd, keeping an eye on his two charges as they slowly made their way through the packed entrance hall and up the carpeted stairs to the uppermost circle of boxes, where they were greeted with the sounds of the orchestra tuning their instruments.

They had just reached their private box when Emmy paused and touched Griffin’s sleeve. “You two wait for me here,” she said. “I’ve just spotted a friend I need to speak to.”

Griff nodded. “Fine, but don’t wander off. Mother will never forgive me if I lose her only daughter.”

“I won’t wander off,” Emmy said, rolling her eyes as only a sibling could. “I’ll be right over there, within sight at all times.” She used her chin to point out a skinny redhead in a pink frock standing some distance up the corridor with a graying gentleman and an older lady with red hair the same shade. The girl’s parents, presumably.

“We’ll wait for you,” Griffin said. “But don’t be long.”

His sister waved a dismissive hand and then she was off, wending her way through the crowd, greeting nearly everyone she passed.

Griffin faced forward and slipped his hands in his pockets, watching the seemingly endless stream of theater patrons go by. Olivia stood beside him doing the same.

The corridor was brightly lit and faintly scented by the gaslight sconces adorning the walls, and despite the chatter of patrons and the noise from the orchestra, the silence between them seemed to grow heavier by the moment.

Olivia was the picture of serenity in her pale blue gown, her gloved hands clasped at her front, a placid smile curving her lips. Her gaze looked every which way but his, and Griffin decided he’d had quite enough of her indifference.

Shifting on his feet, he turned to her with a raised brow and said casually, “Why are you calling me ‘my lord’ tonight?”