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Devin caught his arm. “No!”
“Yes.”
“How on earth—”
“It seems Miss Fulvia St. Trevelyon agrees with you,” Fiennes said. “I received a perfumed note from the lady, kindly informing me that I was to open the family box so that we could converse in a more convivial atmosphere than might be found during a large ball.”
Devin’s eyes widened. “She’s meeting you unchaperoned?”
“Don’t be a fool,” Fiennes said. “The viscountess will be here, along with some other relation.”
“Sit in the back where it’s shadowy,” Devin advised.
Fiennes eyed him. “Why?”
“Because you have to kiss her, if you remember!” he said, squawking with laughter.
“Our final game ended when you collected the snooker balls and dropped them into the pockets behind my back, which doesn’t mean you won,” Fiennes pointed out. “I went off to get a slug of whisky and came back to find the table clean.”
“’Twas my only triumph on the snooker table, and you dare not deny it to me,” Devin claimed. “Obviously the gods were on my side, since I was playing from the goodness of my heart.”
“That is precisely why I dragged you here tonight. I have no particular wish to converse with Miss St. Trevelyon, but I trust that you will chatter, as you do, and winkle out the secrets of her character. Thereafter, you can let me know whether I should marry her or not.”
Devin’s mouth fell open. “I should tell you whether to marry her?”
“You seem to care more than I do,” Fiennes said bluntly. He pushed open the door that led to the Peregrine box: a wide balcony with a railing shaped from gold leaves and two rows of red velvet chairs. Their attendant instantly sprang forward and bowed.
“The ladies haven’t yet arrived,” Devin pointed out. “Why the deuce didn’t you escort them, Peregrine?”
“On my reply, acquiescing to the box and the evening, Miss St. Trevelyon announced that her party would join me here. I thought we might as well begin as we mean to go on. By which I mean that I shall follow her instructions in the event that I don’t give a damn either way.”
“Cold-blooded,” Devin muttered, making his way to the front of the balcony.
Fiennes gave the attendant a few coins and sent him off to inform the kitchens that he wanted the very best food and drink offered to his guests during the interval.
When he joined Devin, it seemed to him that the opening night was already a triumph. The entire theater was crammed with people in their finest clothing, talking at the top of their lungs. Most importantly, the Royal Box was occupied; Prinny’s attendance should make the play a success, even if the acting proved dreadful. His Majesty was accompanied by the so-called Carleton House coterie, a raffish group of extravagant peers.
“I wonder if Miss St. Trevelyon has a voucher for Almack’s,” Fiennes said idly, seating himself.
“Why?” Devin raised an eyebrow.
“I promised myself never to visit it again.”
“Tell me you aren’t carrying emotional wounds from your fiancée tossing your diamond ring into the lemonade?”
Fiennes cast him a deadly glance, but Devin just smirked.
“Lady Regina is here as well, accompanied by the duke and duchess,” Devin exclaimed. He rose, bowing toward a box on the opposite side of the theater.
Thankfully, a sound at the rear of the box allowed Fiennes to rise and turn away before he was forced to greet the detestable woman whom he almost married. The door opened …
A ravishing girl walked in.
It was the only word to describe her. She had honey-colored curls, a sweet chin, dimples, cornflower-blue eyes, a charming figure. In the dim light of the theater, she shone like a star.
Devin had been speaking, but his voice broke off.
Lawrence’s portrait hadn’t exaggerated, even when it came to the viscountess’s looks. The lady seemed tired, but equally beautiful.
