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“As to—”
“As to her reason for suddenly showing up in London. It’s hardly likely she decided to join Lady Leverton after all this time unless there was a decisive reason.”
Colter leaned back, regarded Mowry narrowly. “It’s doubtful she met Carlisle aboard ship and suddenly decided to throw in her lot with men intending to set up their own government. Miss St. Clair may be willful, but she doesn’t strike me as stupid.”
“How does she strike you, Northington? You spent time with her in the country, I understand.” He smiled again, a wolfish curve of thin lips in a caricature of humor. “It was quite—eventful. Was she very impressed with your rescue of her? Grateful enough to share…secrets?”
Mowry knew about the shots fired! The man must have a network of spies in every corner of England. Colter gave a shrug. “Possibly. But don’t expect me to try and get them out of her.”
“Ah, but that’s exactly what I do expect. Take advantage of your close acquaintance. If she has no secrets, then there’s no harm done. But if she does, I want to know what they are. All of them.”
“I’m not in the habit of seducing secrets from women. You’re asking me to betray loyalties, Mowry.”
“No, I’m asking you to prove her innocence and remain true to your first loyalty—England.”
Colter cursed silently. The devil of it was he wasn’t at all certain Celia St. Clair was innocent.
He rose to his feet. “I’ll think about it.”
“Yes, Northington, you do that. And so will I.”
20
The opera being presented at the King’s Theater in Haymarket was Faust, a famous production. The horseshoe-shaped auditorium rose in five tiers of boxes, and the huge gallery seated over three thousand people. It was always crowded, and tonight was no exception.
“Oh look, Celia,” Jacqueline said. “I do believe that the prince is here this evening! That’s his carriage there with the royal crest.”
Celia turned to look out their carriage window as the gleaming brougham rolled to a halt. A footman was there at once to open the door and hand them down, and she focused on the slippery step as she allowed him to take her hand. A cold rain would soon turn to ice, and the January wind pierced the folds of her warm mantle despite her efforts to hold it closed.
Her elegant slippers, embroidered in gilt thread and crusted with tiny gems, were lovely but impractical.
“Yes, it is the prince,” Carolyn said. Her eyes were bright and shiny in the sparkle of carriage lamps and lights from the opera house. “I wonder if he’ll speak!”
“It will be a miracle if he even sees us in this crush,” Celia said, but found once they were inside that the box Jules Leverton had purchased gave them not only an excellent view of the stage, but gave the theater a superb view of the box. It was directly across from the prince’s box, on the first tier closest to the stage. Long velvet draperies in deep wine enclosed the box, and in the center of the theater, heavy chandeliers glittered from the high dome ceiling.
Below, the gallery was crowded with spectators, a crush of people all talking at once. Catalani was to sing tonight, a mature opera diva at the very height of her success and fresh from a European tour.
“I last saw her in Otello. Desdemona is a demanding role,” Jacqueline said, “and only the Italians can do it justice. Oh look, the prince sees us, Celia, and just look who is with him!”
Celia’s heart pounded fiercely. Northington was with the prince, his tall dark frame a powerful contrast to the regent’s pasty corpulence. Both were attired in evening clothes, elegantly garbed in black coats and breeches, but it was Northington who drew admiring glances from feminine eyes.
Damn him, he knows it, she thought, for he looks so arrogant and…and smug, y
es, that’s it—with an insolent smile that doesn’t fool anyone!
So why did her heart leap so at the sight of him?
As if he sensed her gaze, Northington looked toward the Leverton box, and his eyes found hers even across the wide gallery below. He gave a faintly mocking bow in their direction, a lazy smile on his mouth when she turned away in a deliberate cut.
Did he think all he had to do was smile at her and she’d forget the past months of indifference? Perhaps she hadn’t expected vows of undying love or a marriage offer, but neither had she expected him to ignore her as if she no longer existed for him.
“Oh, it is Viscount Northington,” Carolyn said in her ear. “And I think he sees us, Celia!”
“Yes, it would be hard to miss us as we’re directly across from him. Is that Sir John with him?”
Carolyn nodded. “Yes, it is. An infamous lot, don’t you think?” She laughed softly. “Bucks of the first head, a motley group of privileged rogues.”
“I thought you liked Sir John,” Celia said, turning to look at her cousin.”
