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“Oh, looks,” said another dancer. “I’d say helooksripe and ready for a bit of fun.” She squeezed his arm. The dancers clustered closer.
He could be rid of them, of course. But he didn’t wish to humiliate anyone. Arthur encountered Compton’s sympathetic gaze.
“No,” said Señora Alvarez.
The entire group of opera dancers turned to gaze at her. They were clearly intrigued as well as surprised. “Is he yours then, señora?” asked one.
They turned back to him. Arthur was suddenly the focus of a battery of female eyes. He ought to have been embarrassed. In fact, he could only feel amazement that all his senses were focused on the fervent wish that she would say yes.
“If he is, we’ll keep hands off,” added the dancer. “A course.” The others nodded, their expressions intensely curious.
Teresa was speechless. She wondered where thatnohad come from. And why? Lord Macklin was well able to take care of himself. No man more so. He didn’t need her aid. But the sight of Nancy hanging on him and the others closing in had goaded her somehow. She couldn’t bear the thought of Macklin taking one of the girls as his mistress, here where she would see and know. The idea filled her with fury. It was protective anger, she decided. She wouldn’t see these girlsusedby a man when she might have prevented it.
“Fair’s fair,” said another dancer. Nancy ran her hand provocatively down Macklin’s arm.
“Yes,” said Teresa.
A ripple of reaction went through the room. The dancers looked both disappointed and gratified, their eyes full of speculation. The young ladies and their escort appeared startled and then fascinated. Tom looked…smug. Was that right? The lad certainlyseemedpleased with himself, though she didn’t see why he should be.
The dancers retreated a bit, leaving Lord Macklin standing alone. He was gazing at Teresa. Who would have thought that those blue-gray eyes could hold such heat? It threatened to melt the barriers she’d set up to guard her new life. What was she doing? Had she gone mad? He was not hers, of course. She didn’t want him, even if it had been possible.
Teresa’s thoughts tumbled and whirled. Macklin hadn’t meant to accept Nancy’s invitation. His expression had made that obvious. No one had required protection. She could have—certainly should have—kept quiet, and he would have extricated himself. Why hadn’t she? It could not be because she was drawn to him. She refused to be.
The room felt suddenly far too warm. The cool self-possession she’d cultivated for years was crumbling. Lord Macklin was moving toward her. He was going to speak, right here, before all these people. Why would he do that? And what might this earl expect from her now that she’d made such a foolish claim? This brought a flare of anger, and Teresa welcomed it. He had no right to expect anything. That must be made exceedingly clear. She let that determination show in her expression.
The earl stopped. Did it perhaps occur to him—too slowly—that there was nothing they could say or do with everyone looking on? They might as well be onstage here, blundering about like the hapless victims of a farce.
That was it. She’d claim her hasty word was a joke. He should think nothing of it. The English laughed about the most idiotic things. He might even believe that.
But she couldn’t tell him now, with everyone looking on. “We should go,” Teresa said. She turned toward the doorway, filled with a longing for the peace of her own home, and nearly bumped into Miss Ada Grandison.
“Shouldn’t we make arrangements to…” began the latter.
“We have all the arrangements we need, Miss Grandison,” interrupted Teresa. This drew looks from the dancers that made her flush. They had only one definition of an arrangement. Everything she said seemed to make things worse today. She felt quite unlike herself.
“Grandison, is it?” asked Nancy. “Ain’t that the name of your ‘special friend,’ Bella? Mr. John Grandison.”
The young duke goggled. Lord Macklin raised his eyebrows.
Nancy was getting a bit of her own back, Teresa thought, having been thwarted over Macklin. She enjoyed stirring up trouble.
Miss Grandison turned to the dancer. “What? Mr. John Grandison is my father.”
Well, this was an effective diversion from her own unfortunate remark. But Teresa couldn’t be grateful. Miss Grandison looked distressed. Her fiancé seemed ready to spring into action and help her if only he knew how. Miss Finch’s expression suggested that all her doubts about this meeting had been fulfilled.
“Is he now?” said Nancy. “Fancy that.” She gave Bella a sly sidelong glance. “Course he’s not near asgrandas my viscount.”
Would the dancers now begin competing over all the society men who had been to the theater looking for mistresses? Nancy would enjoy that. So would some of the others. Teresa readied herself to put a stop to it, though part of her understood the impulse. The young ladies took so much for granted, had so much that the opera dancers would never possess. It would be satisfying to shock them out of their complacency.
“You know my father?” asked Miss Grandison.
“I have an appointment,” Teresa declared in a loud voice. “I must go.”
“Of course,” said Lord Macklin, lending his aid. He urged Compton toward the door. Miss Finch followed, drawing Miss Moran along with her.
Teresa took Miss Grandison’s arm to pull her along and herded Miss Deeping with a shooing motion. The latter seemed to be taking a satirical enjoyment in the scene, but she responded. The group began to move.
Miss Grandison was not ready to let go of the matter, however. She resisted Teresa’s tug. “They know my father?” she asked her.
