By the time he had settled in his box, the performance had already begun. A Shakespeare comedy, which was a relief. He was in the mood to see lovers united and happy, not a stage strewn with bodies. But more than anything, he was interested in the box across the circle from him, which was still empty.
It was several more minutes before Septon and his party arrived, filed into the box and took their seats. Cassie was there, of course, wearing an evening gown of silver net that he had not seen before. The colour would suit her grey eyes, he was sure. He could imagine them sparkling as she laughed at something happening on the stage.
Then, the door to the box opened again and another man entered, taking the seat beside her.
Gerald Balard.
Sebastian leaned back in his seat, wishing he could shrink back into the shadows and out of notice. He had seen Balard dancing with her at Almack’s and thought nothing of it. She’d danced with dozens of men this Season and had said nothing about this one. Nor had Julian mentioned him as a possible husband.
There had been only two suitors and he’d gotten rid of both of them. The way had been clear for him. Until tonight, and the sudden appearance of this interloper.
Of all the men in London, why did it have to be this one? Balard had the build and good looks of Rutland, with broad shoulders and an excess of wavy brown hair, but none of that man’s vices. He was not quite as pure-hearted as Blake. But he did not gamble or drink to excess. And he was wealthier than those two men combined. Distantly related to both an earl and a marquis but able to support himself with his own investments.
If he was here tonight, it had nothing to do with seeking favours from the Duke of Septon. He wanted nothing from Julian, but his sister.
As he watched, Balard leaned towards Cassie, murmuring something into her ear and pointing towards the stage. She smiled and nodded, consulting her programme, and making some comment in return.
They made a lovely couple. If she had been his sister, he’d have been over the moon at the prospect of such a match. She would be guaranteed a future that was comfortable, safe and scandal free.
He should go. She had not noticed him, yet. He could slink away without being seen and meet her tomorrow, as planned. Then he could ask her about her evening. Or, better yet, he could say nothing at all and focus on the events of the afternoon. It was one thing to spy on her and another to get caught doing so in such an obvious way for the hours it would take for this performance to end.
Then, the door to his box opened and a woman slipped in to take the seat beside him.
He turned to see Harriette Wilson smiling and fluttering her fan. ‘Westbridge,’ she said, her voice a seductive purr. ‘I could not bear to see you looking so lonely. I had to come and rescue you.’
‘Harriette,’ he said. And then, his voice failed him. Harriette Wilson was the most notorious courtesan in London and had her own reserved box, just down the circle from him. It would not be the first time they had enjoyed a performance together.
And after, they had enjoyed far more than that. She was infamous and deserved every bit of her reputation. Someday, he might wish to reminisce about that time.
Just, not now.
‘Harriette,’ he said, plastering a smile on his face. ‘I was not expecting company.’
She gave him a dubious look and draped an arm along the back of his chair, leaning closer. ‘Then this is your lucky night,’ she said, letting out a puff of breath that ruffled his hair.
‘I wouldn’t want to interfere with your plans,’ he said, leaning away.
‘I have nothing tonight,’ she said, inching closer until she had almost pushed him off his chair.
‘Or offend your protector,’ he added, leaning back over the arm of his chair.
‘I have no one at the moment,’ she said, walking her fingers up the buttons of his vest.
He snatched her hand away, holding it for a moment. ‘Flattering though your offer is, I cannot accept.’ He sat up straight again, even though it brought him closer to her. Then, he whispered, ‘There is a lady I do not wish to disappoint.’
‘How interesting,’ she said, refusing to move. ‘Tell me more.’
‘There is not much to tell,’ he admitted. ‘I have made no offer as yet. But I have no room in my heart for another.’
‘True love,’ she said with a mischievous smile. ‘How delightful. And how rare.’ She slid back to her own chair, clasping their joined hands with her free one. ‘I will accept your refusal. Tonight, at least. And give you my best wishes.’ Then, she leaned forward again and kissed him on the cheek.
He smiled, relieved. Then, he glanced across the theatre and saw the shocked face of Cassie Fisk staring back at him.
Balard was still at her side, leaning close, whispering and pointing at Harriette. Julian and Portia were looking at him as well, their expressions grim and disapproving. If Cassie was not already learning the identity of Sebastian’s friend, she would hear of it on the way home.
But it appeared it was already too late for him. She gave him a final frown, then turned deliberately towards the stage, watching the comedy in stony silence.
The play seemed to go on for ages.
