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Grace turned sharply in her seat upon hearing that seductively husky—and now only too familiar—voice, as the man spoke the words so close to her, his breath ruffled the curls in front of her ears.
Alaric Montrose!
She should have known this gift of an evening at the theater was nothing more than a ruse which would allow the arrogant duke to trap her in the privacy of this box with him. With the play already started, Grace knew she would only draw unnecessary attention to herself if she were to attempt to leave now. Unwanted attention she had so far managed to avoid by living quietly and completely alone. The last thing she wanted was to become the subject of any member of theton’s conversation.
Something she was sure the duke was only too well aware of!
Melborne, of course, looked magnificent in full black-and-white evening attire.
In contrast, his hair appeared almost as a golden halo about those harshly hewn features.
Features that, if Grace was not mistaken, currently revealed his satisfaction in having placed her in the position of exactly where he wished her to be. A smugness shown by his having raised one mocking eyebrow over those deep brown eyes, the beginnings of a similarly mocking smile quirking his sensual lips.
Grace narrowed her frustrated gaze upon him. “What a pity I cannot say the same about you,” she hissed low enough so that only Melborne could hear, “in regard to perfection and the wearing of gaudy enhancement.” Her gaze swept disdainfully over the large diamond pin visible in the folds of his perfectly tied neckcloth.
Those sculpted lips curved into a full smile, that same wicked humor glinting in his eyes. “Then it is as well perfection has never been a goal I have aimed for in life.” He rose from the chair behind her to move forward and make himself comfortable on the seat beside her. “How is little Finn? Not suffering any lasting effects from the other day, I hope?”
Grace breathed in so sharply and deeply, the air quickly filled her chest to capacity. How dare this man talk so dismissively of his deliberate machinations?
“Let us watch the play for now, Grace.” Melborne’s head was turned away from her, and his gaze now fixed upon the stage beneath them. “We can continue this delightful conversation once the performance has ended.”
Grace continued to glare at him, irritated beyond description at his highhandedness in not only referring so blithely to their last meeting, but that he was now seated, comfortable and relaxed, beside her in the theater box.
A box he had paid for and so had a right to sit in, she reminded herself.
Perhaps, but it had never occurred to her that Melborne would actually have the audacity to join her here.
Hadn’t it?
A part of her must surely have known it was a possibility, when she was already so well aware of this man’s arrogant disregard for social boundaries.
She had received several curious glances from the people in the boxes either side of her as she continued to sit here alone, but that curiosity had turned to open speculation now that the haughty—and immediately recognizable—Duke of Melborne had seated himself beside her, in clear view of the other theater patrons.
So much for Grace never wishing to draw attention to herself. The two of them would no doubt be the talk of Society tomorrow. Tomorrow? Grace had no doubt the two of them would be the subject on everyone’s lips later this evening when the play had ended.
Grace knew that George would not approve if that should happen.
“The men all envy me because of the beauty of my companion,” Melborne murmured with satisfaction. “The ladies—”
“Are equally as envious because of mine,” Grace finished scornfully.
Melborne gave her a sideway glance. “I was going to say the ladies are all curious to know the identity of the beautiful woman in the sumptuous cream gown who now holds the full attention of the haughty Duke of Melborne.” He leaned closer to her. “You are the first woman I have ever accompanied to the theater.”
If that was meant to flatter Grace, then it failed utterly to do so. “You did not accompany me,” she stated. “And if I had known of your plan to join me, I should not be here at all.”
“No?” he taunted, almost as if he was aware of the undeniable fire that had coursed throughout Grace’s whole body the moment she knew he was in the private box with her, a heat which threatened to burn down all her efforts of resisting this man.
“No,” she came back defensively.
He smiled confidently as he moved his chair closer to hers. “Then my proximity is not the reason for the rapid beat of the pulse at the base of your throat? Or the way your breasts are spilling over the top of your gown?” He spoke softly so that only she could hear. “Tell me, Grace, are your nipples also engorged, and are you wet with the musk of arousal between your thighs, merely imagining what my intentions might be now that we are alone together in the semidarkness?”
Grace wished she could deny all those things, but her traitorous body was guilty of every one of those reactions to the man now seated so close to her, his thigh was pressing along the length of hers.
CHAPTERSIX
Alaric deliberately turned his attention to the stage after making his risqué remark. But he sensed Grace’s gaze upon him as he deliberately kept his face directed to where one of the actors had currently launched into a long diatribe Alaric had no interest in listening to. He knew it was unfashionable, and probably sacrilegious to some people, but the Bard had never been one of his favorite writers of plays. The man seemed to be far too keen on the sound of his own words.
Most of them were also of tragedy and heartbreak, to Alaric’s way of thinking. If he wanted to experience either of those things, he could spend an hour or so in the company of his mother, the Dowager Duchess. A woman he knew to be capable of turning any situation into either a tragedy or scandal.
