Penelope’s fingers twisted her skirts, and she bit her bottom lip. “Why do we have to go to the theater tonight, Mother?”
“I mentioned this to you before. We received quite a few invitations when we were in the country,” Lady Malvern said.
Ana knew her ladyship would prevail. During their brief sojourn to Rosedown, they missed several of the Season’s balls and parties, and Lady Malvern was eager to attend as many routs, balls, garden parties, and plays as humanly possible in London.
Unlike Penelope, Ana wanted to attend the theater. Tonight was the night Oliver would send his midnight coach, and she had been looking forward to the moment she could be alone with him. She smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her serviceable alpaca skirts and said what her ladyship expected. “Your mother is right,” Ana said. “We are invited to sit in Lord Drake’s private box, and we must not be late.”
Ana caught Penelope’s desperate glance but chose to ignore it. Their visit to Lieutenant Smithfield’s residence was still fresh in the girl’s mind, but she had to act as if nothing untoward had occurred. Lady Malvern already suspected her daughter’s affections were preoccupied elsewhere, and she could not let Penelope take any chances.
The Malvern coach waited in a long line before they alighted at Drury Lane Theater. The brilliant actor, Edmund Kean, was performing Hamlet that evening, and many of the aristocracy were in attendance. Colorful gowns and priceless jewels shimmered beneath the lights of the theater’s chandeliers. After removing their opera cloaks and pelisses in the coat room, they made their way to the private boxes.
Oliver stood as soon as they entered. A shiver of excitement coursed through Ana’s veins at the sight of him. He was striking in a long black coat, patterned waistcoat, and blood-red ruby pin in his snowy cravat. His dark hair gleamed beneath the lights.
“Good to see you again, Drake,” Lord Malvern said.
“Ladies.” Oliver nodded.
He held a chair for Penelope to sit. When he moved to assist Ana, his fingers brushed her low back as he held her chair. “Miss Gardner.”
Ana marveled how so light a touch could flood every inch of her body with awareness. She was afraid to meet his eyes, afraid every person in the theater box would know every unladylike thought rushing through her head.
As the group engaged in conversation, Ana was barely aware of the topic. She had a heightened awareness of Lord Drake—the deep, distinctive baritone of his voice, the way he occupied his seat, with command and confidence. His cologne wafted to her, a tantalizing hint of sandalwood and cloves.
At last, the play began. Ana let out a slow breath and attempted to focus on the actors as the drama played out on the stage. A group of dandies seated near the pit drew her eye. They were a raucous group, and it was obvious they were in attendance to meet with friends, converse, and show off the latest in men’s fashions. She spotted Lord Moore, Lord Sutherland, and Lord Elton, the trio who had been at the Silver Chalice. Sutherland took a pinch of snuff and Moore ogled ladies seated two rows behind him. The now-married Lord Elton was seated in between his two friends, chuckling at something they’d said.
Oliver had nothing in common with the trio of coxcombs that had been at the brothel that night. She stole a sideways glance at him. His profile was half illuminated by the lights of the stage. He had a firm strength about him, and she had witnessed firsthand how important he considered his duties. Her gloved fingers curled around the banister of the box. Her own emotions were a whirlwind whenever he was near.
How many hours until tonight?
She’d always prided herself on her strength. It was what had kept her and her brother alive after their father’s suicide. Even after what little pin money she’d set aside had trickled away on food, she remained strong and found a way to survive.
But that strength evaded her now, replaced with a fierce longing.
Her visit with Penelope’s soldier was still fresh in her mind. Life was fragile, as fragile as the doomed relationship between Penelope and an injured officer. Penelope could never be with the young lieutenant, but Ana’s situation was different. She didn’t seek marriage.
She sought a lover.
“How long until intermission?” Penelope asked.
It was a good question. Ana was beginning to feel restless in the private box. The play could last hours and go well into the late evening. “Hopefully soon.”
“Hush,” Lady Malvern admonished. “If you are to speak, then converse with Lord Drake. Your father is dominating him.”
Penelope rolled her eyes as soon as her mother turned away. “I feel bad for Father. Mother is going to scold him later.”
Ana could imagine the conversation there would be on the carriage ride home. Lord Malvern had perfected the art of ignoring his wife’s incessant complaining, while Ana, who hadn’t the talent of feigning “deafness,” would want to stuff her ears with cotton.
Suddenly, she longed for a moment alone with the earl.
But how? Her mind whirled with a way to send him a message.
Soon after, it was time for intermission. Without waiting for Lord Drake and Lord Malvern to offer to fetch refreshments for the ladies, Ana rose. “Please pardon me a moment.” She mumbled an excuse, then glanced at Oliver, hoped he understood her true intent, then hurried from the box.
She found a liveried servant in the vestibule, snatched a glass of wine from a tray, and swallowed a mouthful. After a minute passed and she did not see Oliver’s tall frame descend the stairs, she set the empty glass on a passing servant’s tray. Disappointment settled low in her stomach. Either he could not escape or her message wasn’t received.
Just as she headed back toward the staircase leading to the private boxes, a hand wrapped around her waist, pulled her to a solid chest, then steered her behind a column.
She knew who spoke before she turned. His voice, his essence was intimately familiar. “I’ve been waiting.”
“I had to detach myself from her ladyship. It wasn’t easy. For a moment, I was worried you’d left the theater.”
She turned to look up into Oliver’s eyes and smiled. “Don’t be ridiculous. It would cause a scene with the Malverns if I simply up and left.”
“Truth is I’m glad you made a quick escape from that box.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Because I cannot keep my hands from you.”
Her body ached to be closer. She boldly reached out to trail a finger down his sleeve. “Would it shock you if I said I’m glad to hear it?”
His nostrils flared. “Oh? Are my powers of persuasion that strong?”
“Perhaps,” she said. “Or perhaps I have realized the reward is worth the risk. I’m looking forward to tonight.” She licked her lips.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and he looked like he was going to kiss her. “Good God, Ana. Are you trying to bring me to my knees?”
She pressed a hand against his chest where his heart beat strong beneath her palm. “I worry Lady Malvern will want to stay for the entire play and we will have less time together this evening.”
His dark eyes flashed with triumph. He dipped his head to nip her ear and whisper, “Not if I have any say. Now return to the box before I’m tempted to carry you away and ravish you now.”
Later that evening, Ana was restless and nervous. She counted the hours until the house was dark and quiet. She changed out of her drab, serviceable gown, then reached for a wool cloak on a hook in her wardrobe.
For once, she was grateful for the oversized cloak. Slipping out the servants’ entrance, she stepped into the gardens and covered her hair with the hood. A crescent moon was hidden behind the clouds, and the shadows of the hedges appeared like eerie specters. She opened the garden gate, and the squeak of the hinges made her cringe. She froze, the hair on her nape rising.
Silence greeted her.
She made her way to the street, then around the house toward the mews. Just as Oliver had promised, a dark, unmarked carriage waited.
The driver was on his perch. Before she reached the conveyance, a black-clad figure stepped out of the shadows.
“Your carriage awaits.”
Startled, she whirled to see Oliver. Dressed in a black shirt, black cravat, and black breeches and Hessians, he looked like a raiding pirate.
She pressed a hand to her heart. “You scared me half to death.”
“I was the lookout.”
“And am I safe?”
He flashed a grin. “From others. Not from me.”
A thrill raced down her spine. “Wicked pirate.”
His lips twitched. “Shall I toss you over my shoulder like booty?”
Trying to calm her racing heart, she released a slow breath. “Perhaps. I may like it.”
A gleam lit his eyes, something shockingly possessive crossing his dark features. “Then who am I to keep a lady waiting?” He opened the carriage door. “Enter if you dare.”
Holding her skirts in one hand, she stepped inside.