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“Phil, I won’t keep you, but I need a quick favor. There is a gentleman whose name I need to know.”
They reentered the box, standing in the shadows at the back as the second act began on the stage below. Lynley pointed out the gentleman sitting at Lady Ravenhurst’s elbow just as the man placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned forward to whisper something in her ear.
Phil stiffened beside him. “That’s Barksted.”
“Who is he?”
“A gamester. A very rum touch. I should think Ravenhurst would toss the fellow out of the box.”
“Ravenhurst isn’t there,” Lynley pointed out.
Phil peered at the box again. “So he’s not. Well, I wouldn’t want a fellow like that around Roz, I can tell you.”
“Why not?”
Phil shook his head. “He’s not a cheat or a sharp exactly, at least no one’s caught him at it, but he likes to hold on to a person’s vowels and make them sweat. He’s a squeezer, that’s what he is.”
Lynley thought Phil was right, but if the pressure on Lady Ravenhurst came from a mere card sharp, not a foreign spy, Lynley had gone down a blind alley in his search for the missing papers.
“Where does Barksted like to play, Phil?”
“Private house in St. James’s, I imagine.”
“The one run by that female, Mrs. Hewitt?”
“Yes, do you know it?”
“I was there last night.” Lynley had not seen Barksted there, but he’d like to find out how the man operated.
“Must get back to Roz, Lynley.”
“Go.” Lynley clapped Phil on the shoulder. “But meet me at Mrs. Hewitt’s establishment after the opera. Shall we say one?”
Phil groaned. “Lynley, I’m an old married man. I’m going to be a father.”
“There’s bound to be an excellent supper at two.”
Lynley remained at the back of the box while the soprano on the stage poured out an aria. The vast audience suspended most conversation to listen. When the crowd applauded, he moved to return to his seat and found himself caught in Emily Radstock’s gaze. The look in her eyes and the proud tilt of her head told him that while apparently occupied with her duties as a hostess, she had missed none of his actions in the interval. It was time to distract her.
Chapter Seven
We are used in our present age to think of a betrothal as a bargain. In families of means the lawyers meet to negotiate the settlements almost before the sweet kiss of a lady’s acceptance fades from the lips of her betrothed. The contract between parties who are to share life’s deepest joys and sorrows appears to be a matter of dowries, jointures, and provisions for offspring. When the ink is dry on these documents, it is impossible to break with one another without facing a protracted legal contest. No doubt many enter into marriage as into a bargain, but how much more like a true marriage might it be to consider the betrothal like a solemn covenant.
—The Husband Hunter’s Guide to London
By the time the knight Haroun and the princess Reiza had been tied to a stake to be burned and the fairy queen and king had been summoned to intervene, Emily had quite lost the thread of their adventures. It was Lynley’s fault. She had warned him not to disappear. Instead he’d dominated her senses with his nearness.
He adjusted her wrap, his gloved fingers trailing down her shoulder. He whispered a question about Puck’s singing, his breath disturbing the curls over her ears. His knee collided with hers as he adjusted his chair to make room for his long legs. His hand brushed hers as he consulted the program. Whenever she turned to remonstrate with him, her gaze went to his wonderful crooked mouth, just inches from her face.
She knew what he was up to. He wanted her to forget the attention he had paid to the blond beauty across the theater. Instead her body shook like a teapot on the boil with awareness of him. She tried to fix her attention on her mother’s friends, saying her goodnights and thanking them for coming, but with Lynley at her side, she bungled the simplest goodbyes. And then they were in the carriage, the dark, close carriage, rocking along. She scooted to the far side of the bench.
“Em,” he said, “I did not disappear tonight.”
“Thank you for that.” She was conscious of a slight quiver in her voice. Their engagement gave him the privilege of her name, and at once he had shortened it to one drawn-out syllable.
He reached out and pulled her toward him. She resisted briefly, then let herself be drawn. He tilted her chin up with one gloved hand and lowered his mouth to hers. It was just the touch her senses had clamored for through the evening.
She did not recognize her firm, practical mouth. Her perfectly serviceable lips, which she counted on to admit modest amounts of air and sustenance, now became greedy, as if nothing but the taste of Lynley could satisfy their hunger. The sensation rushed not along the paths of her nerves, but shot straight to her heart, jolting it out of a long sleep.
