Carys usually adored the opera, but the knowledge that she had to sneak out and hand over fifty pounds to Howe dimmed her anticipation of the evening.
Gryff and Maddie were already in the box when she entered through the rear curtain; she greeted them, then leaned out over the low balcony and cast her eye over the assembly.
The discordant tuning up of the orchestra was almost drowned out by the excited chatter of the crowd down in the pit. Fans fluttered and dresses rustled like the whisper of the wind through the trees, and the ladies’ high-pitched laughter provided a soprano counterpoint to the men’s deeper bass tones.
Movement in one of the boxes opposite caught her eye and she stiffened as she saw Howe enter with his wife and another gentleman Carys recognized as Lord Prowse. Howe sauntered to the front of the box, then raked the boxes that circled the stage.
Her skin prickled unpleasantly as he caught her eye and tilted his chin subtly to indicate that she should meet him outside, in the corridor. She sent him a hard stare and an almost imperceptible shake of the head. As a protest it was petty, but the tiny rebellion was her way of wresting some small amount of control over the situation. She would meet him, but at a time convenient for her.
The opera was Mozart’s Così fan tutte, and Carys had dressed accordingly, in the Italian style more suited to the last century. Her deep-red watered-silk gown had an exceedingly low-cut front and a dizzying series of ruffles and bows. The color should have clashed horribly with her red hair, but instead the jewel tone was wonderfully flattering.
She looked exotic and ridiculously theatrical—just as she’d planned. The fuller style suited her curvaceous figure far better than the Empire-line dresses worn by every other woman in the room. Tall, slim girls like Frances might look elegant in those high-waisted gowns, but for someone like herself, who possessed hips and a bust, the style wasn’t the least flattering. Why not wear something that made her look good?
Several more people had entered her box while she’d been looking for Howe, and she turned to greet them with a bright smile. It became more genuine as she saw one of her favorite acquaintances, the suave silver-haired peer Lord Ellington.
He took her extended hands and bowed low to kiss them in an elaborate flourish that brought a smile to her lips.
“Good evening, my lovely. You look like you just stepped out of a Fragonard painting.”
Carys bobbed a mocking curtsey. “Why, thank you, my lord. You’re looking rather handsome yourself.”
“Are you looking forward to tonight’s performance?”
“I confess it’s my least favorite of Mozart’s operas. Not because of the music, but because of the plot.”
Ellington’s gray eyes sparkled with anticipation. He loved discussions such as this. His ability to debate a whole range of subjects was the reason he was such a successful member of the House of Lords. “Interesting. Do tell me your objections.”
“Well, the two ‘heroes’ bet between themselves that their fiancées can’t remain faithful, so each agrees to don a disguise and try to seduce the other’s woman, as a test. The foolish women actually give in, and even get to the point of agreeing to marry the wrong fiancé!” Carys shook her head in despair. “Even worse, when they realize they’ve been tricked, the women are stupidly forgiving, and the men just shrug and laugh, because ‘così fan tutte’—women are all like that.”
Ellington chuckled at her ire. “Oh, come, it’s a joke. Mere entertainment.”
“I fear it’s a sad reflection of current male beliefs.”
Ellington regarded her with fascination. “You think women are capable of remaining faithful to the man they love?”
“Absolutely.”
A shadow fell over them, and her heart leapt as she glanced up into Tristan’s face. What was he doing here? She hadn’t expected to see him this evening.
“How charming to hear you defending fidelity so passionately, Lady Carys.” His tone held the razor edge of sarcasm. “Your eventual husband will be a lucky man.”
She ground her teeth at his mockery. He looked irritatingly gorgeous in his dark evening clothes, and she was acutely aware of heat rising in her cheeks as he took in her finery.
Damn him. He always managed to discompose her so effortlessly.
“I’m still hoping to be that lucky man,” Ellington said smoothly. “I pray she’ll say yes to one of my proposals eventually.”
Carys smiled at him. “Perhaps I will.”
“Lady Carys is so much more interesting than most of the other young ladies of the ton,” Lord Ellington continued, turning to Tristan. “She never lacks an opinion.”
“Some people would say I’m overeducated.” Carys shot Tristan a defiant glance. He’d said as much to her on several occasions. She might not have learned anything at Miss Wickerstone’s academy, but she’d badgered her father to allow her the same tutors as her brothers, and she had excelled. She was far from the empty-headed miss she pretended to be.
She put her hand on Ellington’s arm and leaned in. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy tonight’s opera in your company, my lord. Despite the contentious subject matter.”
Tristan lifted his brows in a sardonic amusement—as if he knew exactly what she was doing and was amused at her maneuvering.
Was she trying to make him jealous?
Maybe. She certainly wanted to remind him that he was the only one who didn’t find her thoroughly fascinating.
The orchestra launched into the lively opening bars, and Ellington sent her a regretful look. “I must return to my box, but I hope to see you next week at your brother’s house party? He was kind enough to invite me.”
“I look forward to seeing you there, my lord.”
When Ellington left she turned an impatient glare on Tristan. “What are you doing here?”
“Maddie invited me.” He nodded toward his sister, who’d already taken her seat next to Gryff at the front corner of the balcony.
Carys sank into one of the velvet chairs near the back of the box and spread her fan. Tristan, undeterred, took the seat next to her.
“As fun as it was watching you work your charms on Ellington,” he murmured, “you’re wasting your time with him.”
“Oh, really? He’s asked me to marry him three times. I’m considering accepting.”
“He only asks because he’s sure you’ll say no. Marrying him would be a grave mistake. He’s not the man for you.”
Carys tossed her head. “And why not?”
Tristan lowered his voice even more, and his gravelly whisper brushed along her nerve endings like velvet stroked against the grain.
“He is—how can I put this?—incapable of enjoying your abundant charms.”
His gaze flicked down to her breasts, squashed together like two perfect peaches by her dress, and a swooping sensation fluttered low in her belly.
“You don’t believe he desires me?”
“He desires you from an intellectual and aesthetic perspective,” he conceded. “As a beautiful object to look at, but not touch. Like his collection of Venetian glass.” His warm breath raised goose bumps on her skin as he leaned even closer. “But I’m afraid from a physical standpoint, I have some bad news for you. He prefers members of his own sex.”
Carys’s heart started to pound. “How do you know this?”
“I ran into him in Venice, at a masquerade, and he introduced me to his lover. His male lover.”
He glanced at her face, but she kept her expression deliberately bland.
“Ellington works extremely hard to keep his preference a secret,” he continued. “Here in England it’s a crime punishable by death, but on the Continent, they take a more liberal view. I’ve assured him of my discretion, of course, but that’s the reason he’s never married. Any wife of his would share in his public disgrace and downfall if he was ever exposed.”
When Carys still said nothing, his gaze sharpened. “You don’t seem surprised.” His tone changed to a note of wonder, and accusation. “You already knew!”
“I’d heard a rumor,” she conceded.
In fact, Ellington had told her of his preferences himself. He’d called on her the day after Howe announced his engagement to Victoria and confessed that he’d seen the two of them emerge from the gardens after their tryst.
Ever discreet, he hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, since he’d assumed their engagement would shortly be announced, but when it became clear that Howe had no intention of marrying Carys, he’d made his own surprising proposition: a marriage of convenience, to protect them both from social disgrace.
Not wanting there to be any misunderstanding, he’d baldly admitted that theirs would not be a physical relationship, since he preferred men, but that if Carys found herself pregnant by Howe, he would gladly claim the child as his own and give them both the protection of his name. She would, of course, be welcome to take lovers of her own once they were wed, provided she was discreet.
Carys had found his offer incredibly sweet, despite the humiliating circumstances. She’d told him that if she was carrying Howe’s child, then she would accept his offer—because what other choice did she have? The thought of admitting her disgrace to her father and brothers was horrifying.
Thankfully, her monthly courses had arrived the following week, and she’d breathed an enormous sigh of relief. She’d declined Ellington’s offer, but to her surprise he’d told her it would remain open indefinitely.
When Howe had started to blackmail her, she’d seriously considered accepting once again. The threat of exposure would lose its sting if she were married, and Ellington already knew she’d been compromised. He was probably the only man in London who wouldn’t care.
Ellington might be nearly twenty years her senior, but he was charming and clever, and his dry wit and irreverent comments on the ton always made her laugh. He was truly interested in her opinions, which was more than most men she knew, and he possessed a level of maturity and pragmatism that most of her other suitors lacked.
They also had a lot in common. He, like her, was well versed in keeping secrets. And she knew all about desiring someone you couldn’t have; the man responsible for that was sitting right beside her.
She glanced sideways at Tristan. He would doubtless say she was searching for a father figure, and perhaps there was some truth to that. Her own father, the Earl of Powys, had been cold and distant, more interested in running his mines and his estates than in conversing with his own children, least of all a girl.
Ellington represented safety, security. Roots.
And yet. If she married him, theirs would be a celibate union. Her experience with Howe had been so uncomfortable that the thought of never doing it again truly hadn’t felt like a sacrifice, and she hadn’t given serious thought to taking a lover … until Tristan’s scandalous proposal in the carriage had forced her to question everything.
What if there was more to making love than Howe had shown her?
Was she missing out on a vital, pleasurable aspect of life?
Tristan was so close that she could feel the warmth of his body against the bare skin of her shoulder, and she realized he was waiting for her to expand on her thoughts on Ellington.
“I might still marry him,” she said coolly. “There’s more to a marriage than physical fulfillment. There’s humor and companionship and stability. Ellington’s private preferences needn’t affect the union at all.”
Tristan’s mouth thinned. “You mean you’ll keep Howe as your lover to satisfy you, since Ellington won’t. Will he provide you with heirs too?”
Carys tried to keep her expression level. She hadn’t considered either of those things as a possibility, but she’d be damned if she’d tell Tristan that. It was none of his business. “Ellington would give me his blessing,” she said stubbornly.
Tristan shook his head, apparently disgusted. “Well, if you want my advice—”
“I don’t.”
He ignored her interruption. “I think you’d be making a big mistake.”
Onstage, Dorabella was complaining that her lover had sailed off for war, and Carys let out a defeated sigh. Tristan was probably right. However mutually beneficial an arrangement with Ellington might be, it would still be a lie, and her life had quite enough of those already.
That dismal thought reminded her of her assignation with Howe—a quick glance over at his box showed he wasn’t there.
Blast.
She rose, and Tristan, ever the gentleman, did the same.
“It’s hot in here tonight, don’t you think?” she murmured. “I’m going to get some air.”
Tristan instantly looked concerned. “Are you unwell? Would you like me to accompany you?’
“No, thank you. I’ll only be a moment.” Without giving him time to follow her, she pushed through the velvet curtain.