Right, then. Wine tonight, at least. Tomorrow, I shall don my armor and sally forth, so to speak. Robert be damned.
****
Her mood savage, Beth chose a particularly low-cut gown for the theatre and convinced Althea to choose a ballgown that highlighted her creamy skin and dark hair. It was most important that a woman feel pretty when a man had spurned her company, and that applied to both of them at the moment.
They arrived early and were shown to the box she’d occupied only once before, with Penelope and Althea for a girls’ night out.
Sitting in the front row, she watched the other boxes fill, the ladies’ necks glittering with jewels, their gloved hands sparkling with rings, as they leaned perfectly coiffed heads toward one another to trade gossip. Curling her lip, she sighed and looked away. Any other time, she would have lingered in the lobby, chatting with those she knew, ignoring skeptical looks sent her way in order to gather knowledge to add to her networking skills. Tonight, she simply could not summon the energy. Using the excuse that Althea hated mingling, she allowed her cousin to pull her straight up to settle into the dark box.
The bells rang through the halls, and the theatre quieted in readiness for Act One.
But as the curtain rose, there was noise at the entry of their box. Thinking Penelope and Michael’s plans had changed, she turned. And saw two tall male forms backlit from the hall sconces. One was long and lean, the other bulkier and familiar.
Her traitorous heart leapt.Robert.
As Cheltie bowed and turned to close the curtains behind them, the light caught his visage. He wore a scowl. A fleeting second of worry for her cousin was all she had before Robert rose from his bow and moved to stand before her.
Leaning down, he whispered, “I missed you. We need to talk.”
Hmph.Yes, they should talk, but even more than reconciliation, she needed him to manhandle her body as expertly as he did his leather pieces. Nevertheless, she should stand firm.
Althea stood, offering Robert her seat and moving back two rows. Beth spared a glance at Evan lowering himself into the seat next to Althea stiffly before Robert became her focus.
“I think we have done all the talking I can stand.” She sniffed for good measure. “Talking has not done us much good.”
“Please, Peaches. I want to be with you. I want to find an approach to the catalogue that will work for both of us.Please?” he repeated.
“I shall think about it.” She turned to stare blindly at the stage, trying to ignore her body’s demands to accept his apology and see what they might think of for private play in public right there, immediately if not sooner.
His fingers crept to her thigh, tugging on her wrist until she gave him her hand to hold. After a gentle squeeze, he smiled before focusing on the stage. “Will you talk with me after the play?”
Beth frowned, her thoughts muddled. Her body, however, had no such concerns. Her heart throbbed in her chest, and her blood sang in her veins. Every muscle was an instrument attuned to the maestro beside her. Who needed the orchestra below when she felt the song of a symphony in this box?
She squeezed her thighs together as heat bloomed low in her belly. Fidgeting in her seat, she sucked in a breath when her breast rubbed against his arm. She repeated the movement.
Robert hummed under his breath. “I see we need to do more than talk. Shall we start there, then?”
Her pride demanded that she refuse. After all, would that not simply repeat the pattern she’d always fallen into? Yet again, she was an easy conquest, good for intimacies but not for partnership. Her lips firmed as she remembered him saying she was careless, and she yanked at her hand.
But his hand, still resting on her thigh, tightened around hers. Then he released her and tugged her skirt upward.
She stifled a gasp. Her body stopped listening to her pride. Never one for self-denial, she was tired of the unfulfilled ache. They could talk later. Unwilling to acquiesce aloud, she slid a few inches lower in her chair and spread her legs to accommodate further exploration.
He knows me so well. If only I wasn’t in love with him, so he could not hurt me. Or if he were…
Her gown and petticoat hem were at her knee, and she abandoned wishing for impossible things to focus on the pleasure he could strum from her.
“Watch the show.” He chastised her with a grin.
She turned blind eyes toward the stage as his hand met the bare flesh just above her knee. It slid inward, toward the part of her she wanted him to strum like a harp, play like a flute, or just plain bang like a drum. It paused mid-thigh to squeeze her leg. His grip reminded her of the restraints he often used to hold her immobile. She daren’t move, unwilling to dispel the aura of anticipated pleasure only this man could give her.
Then his fingers were exactly where she needed them. They skimmed her lips, feeling the moisture already seeping from her from a mere brush of his arm and touch of his fingers.
She felt as much as heard his repeated hum of satisfaction.
Every finger movement twitched muscles in his arm where it rested against her breast. She heaved a sigh, loving the added friction against his thick, hard arm. Then he curled his fingers, thrusting two inside her suddenly.
“Mmph,” she bit back her cry, sinking her teeth into her lip to remain still and silent.
