He still held her hand in his, tucked into the silky material of her dress.
Her hand felt fragile and soft and… trusting…
Odd that she could trust him so much in some matters but continued to keep other affairs from him.
He would have preferred knowing where she’d gotten off to that afternoon. Stephen watched the stage, not really following the story, as Hamlet’s characters came to life. What was she keeping from him? If she told him, did she not think that he would act in her best interest?
And then the thought occurred to him. Regardless of their bargain, she thought he would consider firstly, Flavion’s interests. He’d adamantly told her that he would do anything to aid and abet the only flesh and blood relation he had left. He’d told her about his uncle… He’d told her more than he had thought…
Did she have some more money tucked away, protected from Flavion? Was that what she hid? She had trusted Flave, and he’d taken her money and then betrayed her. Did she think that he, Stephen, would do something similar? By God, he would never do anything to help his cousin get his hands on her personal funds!
Considering her lack of protest at the spending limitations, Stephen began to believe this might be the case. And if she had funds tucked away, it was likely she had a man of business who handled it for her — or for her and her father. And if there was a man of business working for her father, that person would know of any instructions her father had left to his employees regarding his daughter and her newlywed husband.
Of course, Thomas Findlay would no more leave his daughter unprotected than he would allow one of his ships to sail without a captain.
No sooner had this thought taken shape when Cecily turned sleepily and let out a soft moan. Luckily a great deal of action was taking place on stage at that moment, and the other members of their box did not seem to hear her.
She had tucked herself quite cozily into his side, forcing Stephen to release her hand and place his arm around her shoulders. As he did so, he silently wished the armrest to perdition.
Without even considering where they were, his fingers began drawing small circles on the soft, delicate skin at the top of her arm. Her sweet, feminine scent was difficult to reconcile with the girl who’d been flinging mud in the Serpentine earlier that day.
Why was he so drawn to her? Was it because she was Flave’s wife, or was it more complex, more fateful than that? If he had met her anywhere else, away from London, would he have felt this same irresistible pull? He tried to imagine any situation where she would not capture his attention immediately, but could not.
Perhaps it was simply her.
Which, had it been the case for anybody else, he might have considered it something of a farce. Except facing such an untenable situation himself, it rather felt more like a tragedy.
CHAPTER NINE
The remainder oftheevening,thankfully, was comparatively uneventful. Marcus insisted on relaying both Emily and Rhoda in his carriage to their respective homes, leaving Stephen and Cecily alone for the short ride back to Nottinghouse.
Flavion had not returned to the theatre, nor his box.
Once deposited in the Kensington Coach, Cecily leaned back lazily and stifled a yawn. “I cannot believe I missed most of the production. And I had been so looking forward to it.” Stephen sat across from her, but did not recline; instead, he looked rather proper and formal. “Did you enjoy it?”
That corner of his lip twitched, in what Cecily was coming to realize was something of a smile for him. “It was a good performance, but I admit I am no aficionado.”
“But you said you’d read his works in school,” Cecily reminded him. “You quite possibly understand more than most.”
“In school,” Stephen began tentatively, “the study of Shakespeare devolved to that of what was most interesting to the imaginations of adolescent boys.”
Cecily felt her brows furrow and then mentally relaxed her eyes. She did not wish to cultivate wrinkles before she was thirty, after all. “And what was that?”
Again, that twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Well, Shakespeare sneaks in some interesting concepts… interesting to curious lads, that is.”
“Oh, wonderful!” Cecily was intrigued. As a married woman, she was privy to much more stimulating conversation than she had been as a debutante. “Give me an example.”
“I oughtn’t,” Stephen said.
“Oh, pish!” Cecily rejoined. “Come now, I’m not an innocent anymore. I won’t be offended.”
Looking out into the darkness beyond the window, Stephen let out a long sigh and then slanted his gaze toward her. “Often words have two meanings. One of Shakespeare’s favorites was ‘nothing.’”
“Nothing? So, besides the obvious, what is the secondary meaning?”
Without taking his eyes off her, he spoke in a deadpan tone. “In Elizabethan times, the word was also used to indicate a lady’s very private attributes.”
As comprehension dawned, Cecily covered her opened mouth with one hand. “Oh, that is scandalous! Tell me another!”
